PI  PING 

C\    AND 

PANNING 


-MEADE 


PIPING  AND   PANNING 


BY 

EDWIN  MEADE  ROBINSON 

["TED  ROBINSON"] 


NEW  YORK 

HARCOURT,  BRACE  AND  HOWE 
1920 


COPYRIGHT,    IQ2O,    BY 
HARCOURT,    BRACK  AND  HOWE,    INC. 


THE  QUINN   ft   BODEN   COMPANY 
RAHWAY.      N.    J. 


SECRETS  OF  SONG 

When  Homer  smote  the  instrument 

Which  Kipling,  in  a  verse  satiric, 
Miscalled  a  lyre  (in  which  event, 

His  epic  would  have  been  a  lyric); 
But  fezv  were  found  who  would  devote 

Attention  to  Achilles'  anger, 
When  Homer  smote — whatever  he  smote — 

With  tuneful  clangor. 

Through  seven  towns  he  begged  his  bread, 

And  each  disdained  his  deathless  ditty; 
But  each,  as  soon  as  he  was  dead, 

Laid  claim  to  be  his  native  city. 
O  Smyrna,  Rhodos,  Colophon, 

Salamis,  Argos,  Athens,  Chios! 
What  higher  fame  ye  might  have  won 

By  being  pious! 

Let  us,  enlightened,  try  to  give 
A  different  ending  to  the  story; 

Claim  we  our  Homers  while  they  live, 
And  ivhen  they  die,  we'll  share  their  glory. 

O,  treat  no  wandering  bard  with  scorn, 
The  bread  ye  give  is  heavenly  manna — 

(The  writer  of  these  lines  was  born 
In  Indiana.) 


425564 


CONTENTS 


PAGE 

To  A  LADY 3 

THE  LECTURE 4 

THE  STORY  OF  UG 6 

LIMERICISED  CLASSICS 8 

HALCYON  DAYS 10 

A  DISAGREEABLE  FEATURE 12 

THINGS  I  DESPISE 14 

THINGS  I  LIKE 16 

RHYME  POVERTY 18 

You  CAN'T  ESCAPE  IT 19 

SOME  ANGLICISMS 21 

THE  DRAWBACKS  OF  HUMOR 22 

LINES  TO  A  SMALL  PERSON       .       .       .               .  23 

LOVE  LYRICS 25 

IDLE  REFLECTIONS 27 

YOUTH  AND  SORROW 29 

HISTORY 3° 

PUZZLED 32 

LONGING 33 

A  PLAINT 35 

UNCONGENIAL 37 

MAKING  MYSTERY 39 

How  HE  TURNED  OUT 41 

THE  AUCTIONEER       ...               ...  43 

"  ELEVEN    MILLION   WORDS    FREQUENTLY    MIS 
PRONOUNCED  " 45 

VALE! 48 

WE  OLYMPIANS 49 

AN  OLD  FABLE 51 


vi  Contents 


PAGE 

THE  QUESTION  SETTLED 53 

AFFECTIONS 54 

To  ORDER 56 

THE  WOES  OF  YOUTH 58 

THE  CRITIC'S  APOLOGY 60 

A  VAIN  LONGING 61 

THE  LAST  FRONTIER 63 

WITH  Us 65 

THE  PLAINT  OF  APOLLOS 67 

PUNCHINELLO 69 

IT  HAPPENS  OFTEN 71 

MENTAL  PABULUM     ....  .  72 

A  SAD  THOUGHT 74 

"  OUR  SWEETEST  SONGS  " 76 

THE  MYSTERY 78 

IN  VARIOUS  KEYS 79 

"THE  BALBOA"  (1915) 81 

THE  TYPEWRITER'S  SONG 82 

RURAL  DELIGHTS 84 

WHY? 86 

A  SONG  OF  THE  MOVIE  MEXICAN    ....  89 

THE  SAILING  OF  THE  MAYFLOWER       .  .  90 

MYSTERIOUS  CREATURES 92 

THE  SHADY  PAST 94 

VlLLANELLE  OF  A  VlLLANESS 96 

THE  NEW  ERA 97 

LYRIC  MADE  IN  HOT  WEATHER      .       .       .       .98 

Two  SOULS 99 

SUNDRY  REFLECTIONS       ....  .  100 

OLD  STUFF 101 

A  VAGARY 102 

LIARS I04 

A  LAY  OF  ANCIENT  ROME 105 

THE  AGE  OF  GENIUS i°7 

LIMITATIONS  (1917) 


Contents  vii 


PAGE 

BUTTER  AND  EGGS      .       .       .       .       .       .       .no 

A  HORRIBLE  EXPERIENCE 112 

BALLADE  OF  A  BACKSLIDER 114 

THE  WRONG  DOPE      .       .       ,,       .       .       .       .116 

ROMANZA 118 

AN  AMBITION  (1917)       .       .       .       .       .       .   120 

THE  OLD  LOVE 122 

THE  USES  OF  ADVERSITY 123 

CONSERVATIVES 125 

WHAT  HAPPENED 126 

THOUGHTS   INSPIRED  BY  AN   ORGAN   GRINDER'S 

MONKEY 127 

THE  TRUTH  OF  IT     .       .       .       .  .       .129 

THE  AVERAGE  MAN 13° 

SAD  SEPTEMBER  SENTIMENTS  .  ...   132 

BEING  INSPIRED 134 

REFLECTIONS 135 

The  cover  design  is  by  C.  Bertram  Hartman. 


PIPING  AND  PANNING 


TO  A  LADY 

Who  Leans  over  My  Shoulder  as  I  Endeavor  to  Write  Verses. 

My  pen  is  on  the  paper,  and  a  song  is  in  my  mind, 
But  it  never  will  be  written  while  you  stand  so  close 

behind ; 

The  pen  has  got  the  palsy,  and  the  song  is  in  the  air — 
I  wish  you  would  be  seated  in  a  comfortable  chair ! 

Your  eyes  upon  the  new-born  lines  are  burning  them 

to  death; 
The  rhyme's  intoxicated  with  the  fragrance  of  your 

breath ; 
The  rhythm's  tangled  in  your  hair,  the  meter  is  a 

wreck — 
I  wish  you'd  take  your  lips  a  greater  distance  from 

my  neck! 

Your  hand  is  on  my  shoulder,  but  it's  plucking  at  my 

heart; 

Proximity  like  this  disturbs  both  rectitude  and  art. 
I  cannot  see  you,  but  I  know  you're  close  enough  to 

kiss — 
I  wish  you'd  go  and  read  a  book  till  I  have  finished 

this! 

I  wish  your  chin  was  not  so  round,  I  wish  your  brow 

was  brown. 
If  you  don't  go  and  take  a  walk  till  I  have  settled 

down, 

I'll  cease  to  be  the  anchorite  the  world  considers  me, 
And  you'll  never  be  the  angel  God  intended  you  to  be ! 

3 


Piping  and  Panning 


THE  LECTURE 

I  cannot  seem  to  get  the  pith 
Of  this  new  bug  of  Katy's; 

She  wants  to  hear  Professor  Smith, 
Who  talks  on  Mithridates — 

While  I  would  spend  the  evening  with 
My  Lares  and  Penates. 

I've  grown  domestic  in  my  taste, 
As  years  have  brought  a  measure 

Of  calm.    Of  late  I  have  not  chased 
Vague  Culture's  doubtful  treasure; 

And  as  for  lectures — what  a  waste 
Of  comfortable  leisure ! 

I  did  not  plead  a  headache  (for 
Your  head  will  not  protect  your 

Unworthy  brain  from  Culture's  lore;) 
I  had  to  hear  that  lecture. 

I  think  it  was  on  Shakespeare,  or 
Pre-Gothic  Architecture. 

I  heard  him  speak  of  Caesar's  laws, 
The  Forum  and  the  Tiber; 

I  think  that  he  described  the  flaws 
In  Nero's  moral  fiber; 

And  I  should  judge  from  the  applause 
That  he  was  some  describer. 


Piping  and  Panning 


But  Katy  wouldn't  let  me  hear 

The  intellectual  brother; 
She  whispered  softly  in  my  ear 

Of  this  and  that  and  t'other — 
How  "  that  was  Clara  Vere  de  Vere, 

With  Jennie  Johnson's  mother." 

He  said  "  The  pipes  of  Pan  are  dumb !  " 

But  Katy  wasn't  very; 
He  spoke  of  the  millennium, 

And  she  of  millinery. 
Among  her  neighbors'  hats  were  "  some 

The  board  of  health  should  bury !  " 

I,  soothed  by  his  mellifluous  tone, 

Was  gaping  like  a  gaby, 
When  she,  who  feared  I'd  pull  a  bone 

By  candid  snoring,  maybe, 
Made  me  go  out  and  telephone 

The  nurse  about  the  baby. 

When  all  was  o'er,  she  raved  about 

The  lecture,  and  averred  it 
Was  wonderful;  and  I've  no  doubt 

It  was,  since  she  preferred  it. 
But  why  should  she  have  dragged  me  out  ?- 

We  neither  of  us  heard  it! 


Piping  and  Panning 


THE  STORY  OF  UG 

Ug  was  a  hairy  but  painstaking  artist, 

Back  in  a  simple  and  primitive  age. 
Listen,  young  Poet!    And  ere  thou  departest, 

Haply   thou'lt    learn    something.      (Haply    thou'lt 

rage!) 
Ug  fashioned  arrowheads,  slowly  and  neatly, 

Chipping  all  day  at  the  hardest  of  stone; 
Made  them  symmetrical,  polished  them  sweetly, 

Sharpened  their  points  with  a  skill  all  his  own. 

Long  ones  and  short  ones  and  fat  ones  or  narrow, 

Bolts  of  obsidian,  spearheads  of  flint; 
Some  that  could  crash  through  a  mastodon's  marrow, 

Some  that  were  prized  for  their  beautiful  tint ; 
Endless  varieties  told  of  his  talents — 

All  were  alike  in  that  all  were  acute, 
All  had  the  symmetry,  finish  and  balance 

Arrows  must  have  if  one  wants  them  to  shoot. 

And  then,  one  day, 

Ug  began  to  notice 

A  distinct  falling  off  in  his  trade, 

And,  upon  inquiry,  he  found 

That  a  new  school  of  arrowhead-makers 

Who  made  what  they  called  "  Free  Arrowheads  " 

Was  getting  popular  among  the  young  men. 

The  arrowheads  were  "  free  " 


Piping  and  Panning 


In  the  sense  that  they  had  no  shape, 

Being  mere  amorphous  chunks 

Of  flint,  or  sandstone  or  blue  mud 

Or  any  thing. 

It  seems  that  the  old,  shapely  kind 

Was  felt  to  be  monotonous  and  antique, 

Being  even  on  both  sides, 

Like  a  foolish  old  Grecian  jar, 

Or  a  butterfly,  or  a  woman. 

While  the  new  kind 

Could  "  express  the  soul "  of  its  maker, 

In  looking  like  a  piece  of  cheese. 

You  couldn't  hit  anything  with  the  new  kind 

Because  they  wouldn't  shoot  straight ; 

But  being  purely  "  subjective  "  arrowheads, 

They  weren't  intended  to  hit  anything. 

So  Ug  was  neglected, 

Until  people  began  to  get  hungry  .   .   . 

And  then,  since  he  was  the  only 

Skilled  maker  left  in  the  country 

He  became 

A  millionaire. 


Piping  and  Panning 


LIMERICISED  CLASSICS 

Anthony  W.  Euwer,  in  "  The  Limeratory,"  deplores  the 
fact  that  our  greatest  poets  did  not  make  use  of  the  Limerick 
form  of  verse.  We  endeavor  to  supply  the  omission,  in  part. 

I — HOW  HOMER  SHOULD  HAVE  WRITTEN  THE  ILIAD 

There  was  a  young  man  named  Achilles 
Whose  wrongs  always  gave  him  the  willies; 

So  he  sulked  in  his  tent 

Like  a  half-witted  gent —     , 
Say,  wasn't  them  heroes  the  sillies! 

II — SHAKESPEARE  MIGHT  HAVE  BOILED  OTHELLO 

There  once  was  a  guy  named  Othello, 
A  dark,  disagreeable  fellow; 

After  croaking  his  wife, 

Then  he  took  his  own  life — 
That  bird  wasn't  black,  he  was  yellow ! 

Ill — THE  RUBAIYAT 

"  A  jug  and  a  book  and  a  dame, 

And  a  nice  shady  nook  for  the  same," 

Said  Omar  Khayyam, 

"  And  I  don't  give  a  darn 
What  you  say,  it's  great  little  game ! " 

IV — "  TO  LUCASTA,   ON  GOING  TO  THE  WARS  " 

"  Lucasta,"  said  Terence  O'Connor, 
(<  I'm  drafted — I  guess  I'm  a  goner! 


Piping  and  Panning 


I  know  it  will  grieve  you 
To  death,  when  I  leave  you — 
But  gosh !  how  I'm  stuck  on  my  honor ! " 

V — SPOON    RIVER    ANTHOLOGY 

I  dropped  my  wad 

Cornering   cotton.     Then 

I  died. 

Now,  I  guess  I'm  forgotten. 

Well,  that  swell 

Epitaph  that  I've  got 

Makes  me  laugh. 

When  I  lived 

I  was  certainly  rotten ! 


io  Piping  and  Panning 


HALCYON  DAYS 

Ere  yet  the  giants  of  modern  science  had  gone  a-slum- 

ming  in  smelly  slums, 
And  through  the  Ghettos  and  lazarettos  had  put  in 

plumbing  (and  pulled  out  plums!) 
When  wily  wizards  in  inky  vizards  employed  their 

talents  at  homicide, 
And    poisoned    goblets    for    faithless    squablets    by 

knightly  gallants  were  justified; 
When  maids  were  fairest,  and  baths  were  rarest,  and 

thaumaturgy  was  wrought  by  dames, 
When  courts  were  rotten  and  faith  forgotten,  and  only 

clergy  could  write  their  names — 

When  he  who  flouted  the  Church,  or  doubted,  would 
find  his  neck  fast  in  hempen  ruff, 

And  saint  and  sinner  thought  eggs  for  dinner  and 
beer  for  breakfast  the  proper  stuff ; 

When  men  were  scary  of  witch  and  fairy,  of  haunted 
castle,  of  spook  and  elf, 

When  every  mixer  of  cough  elixir  was  thought  a 
vassal  of  Nick  himself ; 

When  income  taxes  and  prophylaxis  and  Comic  Sec 
tions  were  yet  unborn, 

When  Leagues  of  Nations  and  Spring  Vacations  and 
Fall  Elections  were  held  in  scorn — 


Piping  and  Panning  n 

When  all  brave  fellows  would  fight  duellos  with  sword 

and  dagger,  with  lance  and  mace, 
When  good  men  guzzled  until,  clean  fuzzled,  they'd 

reel  and  stagger  about  the  place; 
When  pious  journeys  and  jousts  and  tourneys  brought 

high  adventure  and  secret  tryst, 
When  knives  were  many,  but  forks  not  any — 'twas 

fist  to  trencher,  and  mouth  to  fist ! — 
Oh,  men  had  chances  for  true  romances,  for  fame 

and  glory  and  knightly  acts  .    .    . 
(And  childish  quarrels  and  beastly  morals,  if  song  and 

story  would  stick  to  facts!) 


12  Piping  and  Panning 


A  DISAGREEABLE  FEATURE 

She  has  a  bright  and  clever  mind, 

Her  cheek  with  health  and  beauty  glows ; 

I  wish  she  had  a  more  refined. 
Nose. 

I  like  the  saucy  retrousse, 

Admire  the  Roman,  love  the  Greek ; 
But  her's  is  none  of  these — It's  a 

Beak. 

Soon  as  the  sun  of  summer  sets, 
Or  ever  winter's  snows  are  shed, 

That  hapless  feature  always  gets 
Red. 

The  hints  that  beauty  sharps  indite 
Account  for  this  in  many  ways ; 

Some  say  it  comes  from  wearing  tight 
Stays. 

O  lady  fair,  let  such  be  shunned ! 

A  larger  waist,  a  looser  boot 
Were  better  than  a  rubicund 

Snoot ! 

And  you'd  improve  its  shape,  Got  wot, 
And  look  less  like  a  pink  pug  pup 

If  you  would  wipe  it  down,  and  not 
Up! 


Piping  and  Panning  13 

Farewell!     That  love  cannot  endure 
Though  you  have  every  other  grace 

Is  plain  as  is  the  nose  on  your 
Face! 


14  Piping  and  Panning 


THINGS  I  DESPISE 

The  sting  of  a  hornet, 

The  sound  of  a  cornet, 
The  odor  of  all  antiseptics; 

Set  speeches  that  sparkle 

With  wit  patriarchal; 
Their  symptoms  as  told  by  dyspeptics. 

A  tennis  court  grassy, 

A  child  that  is  sassy, 
The  green  worms  that  breed  on  tomatoes ; 

Folk  saying  "  tomahtoes  " 

As  rhyming  with  "  grottoes," 
Thus  leaving  no  rhyme  for  "  potatoes." 

All  lap-dogs  and  parrots, 
And  egg  plants  and  carrots; 

New,  hard-finished,  slick  linen  towels; 
The  raw  Dead  Man's  Gulcher 
Who  imitates  culture 

By  broadening  American  vowels; 
Sloe  gin,  Gertrude  Hoffman, 
Cold  gravy,  Herb  Kauffman, 

Free  verse,  cubist  art,  Mrs.  Grundy; 
Warm  beer,  Herbert  Spencer, 
George  Viereck,  the  censor, 

Amy  Lowell,  New  York,  Billy  Sunday. 

All  pictures  of  lovers 
On  magazine  covers, 


Piping  and  Panning 


All  women  who  smoke,  and  drink  highballs  ; 

All  hearty  young  smarties 

Who  spoil  quiet  parties 
By  butting  in  soused  to  the  eyeballs  ; 

These  things,  as  I  pen  'em, 

I  loathe  with  a  venom 
That's  strange  in  a  jester  and  japer  — 

And  I'd  carry  the  list  on, 

But  have  to  desist,  on 
Account  of  the  high  price  of  paper  ! 


1 6  Piping  and  Panning 


THINGS  I  LIKE 

Young  onions,  brown  toffy, 

Walt  Mason,  iced  coffee, 
Soft  pencils,  rare  beef,  English  mustard; 

The  ravishing,  mellow, 

Rich  tones  of  the  'cello; 
Fox  terriers,  Mae  Marsh  and  cup  custard. 

A  pipe  after  dinner, 

Sweet  Corn,  Otis  Skinner, 
Plum  jam;  and  I  own  I  am  partial 

To  old  fashioned  poker — 

(No  "  wild  "  cards,  nor  joker) 
Wheat  cakes,  and  Vice  President  Marshall. 

Pepys'  Diary;  tiny 

Red  radishes ;  Heine ; 
Girls,  birds,  slippers,  country  physicians ; 

Unitarian  preachers, 

Cut  plug,  Latin  teachers, 
H.  G.  Wells,  Robert  Frost,  first  editions. 

The  dawn  of  a  May  day, 

The  dawn  of  a  pay-day, 
F.  P.  A.,  Thomas  Hardy,  Bab  Ballads; 

Rabelais  and  Puccini, 

Benvenuto  Cellini, 
And  garlic  in  all  of  my  salads, 


Piping  and  Panning  17 

Traditions  of  tribal 

Beliefs,  like  the  Bible; 
Bass  fishing,  the  legends  of  Gleeman; 

Good  cider — just  tinglish — 

East  Cleveland,  pure  English ; 
Thin  socks,  Oscar  Wilde,  Owen  Seaman. 

These  things,  and  some  others, 

I  love,  O  my  brothers. 
The  list  is  quite  candidly  stated; 

But  this  comes  to  grieve  me — 

Twas  harder  believe  me, 
To  write  than  the  things  that  I  hated ! 


1 8  Piping  and  Panning 


RHYME  POVERTY 

'Tis  sad  (we  may  have  mentioned  this  before) 

That  there  are  many  things  we  may  not  sing 
Because  they  have  no  rhymes,  or  one,  not  more — 

And  that  one  oft  an  unrelated  thing. 
For  instance,  would  we  praise  the  lordly  elk, 

(The  antlered  or  the  watch-charm-bearing  sort) 
We  must  go  far  afield  and  speak  of  "  whelk," 

(A  shellfish  seldom  sought  for  food  or  sport). 

And  if  a  line  should  chance  to  end  with  "  web," 

Or  if  one  speaks  of  Nature's  verdant  garb, 
That  former  line  must  always  rhyme  with  "ebb," 

This  latter  verse  perforce  ends  with  a  "  barb." 
And  never  can  you  send  your  hero  forth 

Women  to  win,  or  f oemen's  casques  to  carve ; 
He  can't  go  any  other  way  but  "  north  " — 

And  there,  can  do  no  other  thing  but  "  starve !  " 

Ah,  words  are  garments  lofty  thoughts  to  clothe, 

As  clothes  the  tender  green  the  rural  tilth; 
Yet  though  you  loathe  it,  here  you  must  use  "  loathe," 

And  here,  more  loathsomely,  you  must  use  "  filth." 
How  can  a  poet  play  a  mighty  fugue 

When   rhymes    for   such   important   words   are 

scarce? 
How  even  end  a  verse  like  this,  when  naught 

Rhymes  with  the  fifth  line — and  the  sixth  with 
nothing? 


Piping  and  Panning  19 


YOU  CAN'T  ESCAPE  IT 

I  have  a  friend  who  likes  to  chat 

On  things  that  he  has  read; 
He  isn't  such  a  bore,  at  that, 

When  all  is  done  and  said. 
But  he  commits  one  dire  offense 

That  hits  me  on  the  raw — 
He  will  explain  the  difference 

'Twixt  Chesterton  and  Shaw ! 

I  know  not  why  it  is  I  must 

Submit,  with  inward  woe, 
To  hear  this  dreary  theme  discussed, 

Wherever  I  may  go; 
'Twere  as  significant  to  me 

The  parallel  to  draw 
Twixt  Tweedledum  and  Tweedledee, 

As  Chesterton  and  Shaw. 

To  every  eager,  cultured  youth, 

I  must  pretend  surprise 
To  learn  that  "  one  makes  lies  of  truth, 

And  one  makes  truth  of  lies," 
And  each  discovers  it  anew, 

And  I  must  treat  with  awe 
The  Tricky  Tenets  of  the  Two— 

Of  Chesterton  and  Shaw! 


2O  Piping  and  Panning 

Oh,  let  the  ancient  subject  go, 

And  I'll  be  well  content 
To  swear  that  all  you  say  is  so 

Without  an  argument ; 
And  I  will  grant  you,  if  you  please, 

By  God's  mysterious  law, 
That  chalk  is  different  from  cheese, 

And  Chesterton  from  Shaw! 


Piping  and  Panning  21 


SOME  ANGLICISMS 

I  have  written  of  various  kinds  of  weather, 
For  all  of  the  weathers  are  rhymes  to  me; 

I  have  more  than  once  added  "  we  strolled  together  " — 
(For  more  on  this  subject,  see  Calverly.) 

And  I've  often  been  forced  to  refer  to  heather, 
Though  I  haven't  a  notion  what  heather  may  be ! 

Invention,  at  times,  is  bound  to  slacken, 
And  Pegasus,  balking,  must  yield  to  force ; 

The  ink  must  dribble,  the  page  to  blacken, 
For  rhymes  must  be  writ  as  a  matter  of  course; 

At  times  I've  employed  it — but  what  is  "bracken"? 
And  what  in  the  dickens  are  "  furze  and  gorse  "  ? 

And  often  in  spring,  when  the  sensuous  hymn  rose, 

I've  written  to  praise  it  as  poets  do ; 
When  the  new-budded  saplings  were  standing  in  slim 
rows, 

And  the  cute  little  posies  were  pink  and  blue. 
Then  I've  mentioned  (but  never  have  seen)  a  primrose, 

And  tell  me,  what  sort  of  a  tree  is  "  yew  "  ? 

'Tis  harder  for  a  rhymester  to  keep  from  falling 
For  fauna  and  flora  in  Britain  made, 

Where  cushat  and  mavis  and  merle  are  squalling 
To  starling  and  rook  in  the  box-tree's  shade, 

And  vicar  and  curate  are  sweetly  calling, 
And  sipping  their  muffins  and  marmalade! 


22  Piping  and  Panning 


THE  DRAWBACKS  OF  HUMOR 

No  sage  am  I,  who  would  aspire, 

To  wisdom  and  profundity ; 
Tis  mine  to  pluck  the  lighter  lyre, 

Promoting  sweet  jocundity. 
"  Laugh,"  says  the  proverb,  "  and  acquire 

A  comforting  rotundity." 

And  yet  I  find  that  constant  mirth 

May  be  itself  injurious; 
There  is  a  point  at  which  the  girth 

Gets  almost  too  luxurious — 
Tis  then  that  I  come  down  to  earth 

And  am  of  wit  penurious. 

My  tendency  to  take  on  weight 

Is  growing  indisputable, 
And  much  I  doubt  if  such  a  state 

For  any  bard  is  suitable ; 
If  I  neglect  it  till  too  late, 

It  might  become  immutable! 

So  if,  at  times,  I  cease  to  jest, 
And  write  with  grim  austerity, 

Think  not  I've  lost  my  interest— 
Don't  question  my  sincerity; 

I'm  solemn  to  reduce  my  vest, 
And  slimness  means  severity! 


Piping  and  Panning  23 


LINES  TO  A  SMALL  PERSON 

My  temper,  as  you  know,  is  mild, 

Because  I  have  a  good  digestion; 
So,  when  I  speak  to  you,  my  child, 

Upon  a  most  important  question, 
You  need  not  have  the  slightest  fear 

That  I  shall  threaten  you  or  scold  you ; 
My  disposition's  not  severe, 

As  I  believe  that  I  have  told  you. 

The  modern  parent  may  not  smite 

His  offspring,  nor  address  him  rudely ; 
Our  forbears,  we  are  told,  were  quite 

Mistaken  when  they  wrought  so  crudely. 
We  may  not  slap  the  tiny  hands 

For  any  fault  or  childish  treason ; 
Not  even  must  we  give  commands, 

Unless  we  tell  the  child  the  reason. 

Therefore,  to  speak  as  Science  bids, 

In  which  I  am  a  firm  believer, 
I  wish  to  warn  you  that  the  kids 

Across  the  street  have  scarlet  fever. 
I  do  not  wish  to  have  you  shun 

Your  kind,  nor  go  without  a  playmate, 
But  will  you  please  avoid  them,  son, 

Until  they've  started  to  desquamate  ? 


24  Piping  and  Panning 

Or,  if  you  don't  believe  in  germs 

(And  many  people  seem  to  doubt  them) 
Please  state  your  case  in  rigid  terms, 

And  we  shall  say  no  more  about  them. 
What's  that  you  say  ?    I  make  you  sick  ? 

My  little  son,  I  hate  to  bother, 
But  I  am  glad  to  cut  this  stick 

In  case  of  failure.    Come  to  Father! 


Piping  and  Panning  25 


LOVE  LYRICS 

To  sing  a  song  both  sweet  and  strong 

To  praise  the  bosom's  deity 
Requires  some  art  of  head  and  heart, 

As  well  as  spontaneity. 
Not  only  must  its  lines  be  just, 

Its  wit  without   frivolity — 
It  must  be  clear,  and  sound  sincere, 

And  have  a  polished  quality. 

The  bard  of  love  must  rise  above 

The  literal,  and  realize 
That  prose  may  chaff  or  photograph, 

But  verses  must  idealize. 
Love's  pain  and  woes  appear  in  prose 

As  calm  as  in  a  diary; 
Whereas  the  fire  of  song's  desire 

Should,  at  the  least,  be  fiery. 

But  fire  alone  will  not  atone 

For  lack  of  virtuosity; 
Without  the  wile  of  grace  and  style, 

It's  just  a  crude  monstrosity. 
Who  writes  a  song  as  hot  and  strong 

As  chili  dishes  Mexican 
Must  work  for  days  with  Pete  Roget's 

Invaluable  lexicon ! 


26  Piping  and  Panning 

You  hack,  you  hew,  you  sing  it  through, 

You  blot  and  you  eliminate; 
You  substitute  a  word  to  suit, 

You  study  and  discriminate. 
If  what  you  use  you  rightly  choose, 

Rejecting  what's  extraneous, 
You're  close  to  fame,  if  men  exclaim — 

"  How  artlessly  spontaneous !  " 


Piping  and  Panning  27 


IDLE  REFLECTIONS 

When  Christopher  Columbus  said  he  thought  the 
earth  was  spherical, 

He  scandalized  the  scholars,  both  the  secular  and 
clerical — 

They  said  his  head  was  ivory,  his  visions  all  chimeri 
cal. 

When  first  a  daring  soul  announced  that  oysters  were 
digestible, 

And  prophesied  that  they  should  be  a  popular  comes 
tible, 

"No  doubt  his  notions  were  assailed  as  perfectly  de 
testable. 

WThen  Jenner  from  a  dread  disease  could  give  the 

world  immunity, 
The  scoffers  stoned  his  house  and  pulled  his  whiskers 

with  impunity, 
And  jeered  at  him  and  called  him  names,  at  every 

opportunity ! 

Yet  each  of  those  discoveries  remained  for  time  to 

vindicate, 
And  profit  followed  in  the  paths  that  genius  could  but 

indicate, 
And  each  of   them  became  in  time  exploited  by  a 

syndicate. 


28  Piping  and  Panning 

Now  I've  discovered  something  that  is  very  near  a 

miracle ; 

Whene'er  I  think  about  it,  I  grow  absolutely  lyrical — 
But  shall  I  spring  it  on  my  friends,  and  hear  them 

get  satirical? 

And  shall  I  join  the  goats  and  unappreciated  goatesses 
Who  have  to  die  before  they  get  their  hard-earned 

reading  notices? 
Nay,  nay — I'd  rather  twang  the  lyre  and  lie  among 

the  lotuses ! 


Piping  and  Panning  29 


YOUTH  AND  SORROW 

A  score  of  years  ago, 

When  I  was  in  my  'teens, 
The  verse  I  wrote  was  full  of  woe, 

Describing  tearful  scenes. 
I  sang  of  pain  and  strife, 

I  moaned  of  toil  and  care, 
And,  oh!  the  tragedy  of  life 

Was  quite  too  hard  to  bear! 

A  graying  lock  or  two, 

A  touch  of  rheumatiz 
The  monthly  bills  a-coming  due — 

Existence  as  It  Is — 
Have  made  me  pipe,  at  length, 

A  much  more  cheery  song; 
I  sing  of  health  and  youth  and  strength- 

The  Poem  of  the  Strong ! 

If  that's  the  way  it  goes, 

(And  that's  the  way  it  seems) 
When  I  get  old,  why  I  suppose 

I'll  sing  of  lovers'  dreams; 
I'll  don  the  motley  gay, 

I'll  caper,  grin  and  strut, 
And  everyone  that  reads  will  say 

"  The  old  guy's  off  his  nut !  " 


30  Piping  and  Panning 


HISTORY 

When  the  rough  and  ready  freeman  of  the  land  of 
Lacedaemon 

Were  preparing  for  war, 

There  was  never  much  complaining  of  a  lack  of  proper 
training 

Or  the  right  esprit-de-corps. 

For  the  discipline  Lycurgean  caused  each  callow  youth 
to  burgeon 

Into  adamantine  strength — 

Caring  little  for  esthetics,  they  went  in  for  stiff  ath 
letics 

To  most  surprising  length. 

'Twas  a  course  that  might  dishearten  any  pacifistic 
Spartan 

Who  would  rather  write,  or  talk; 
Every  blasted,  bloomin'  blighter  had  to  learn  to  be  a 
fighter, 

From  the  time  that  he  could  walk. 
They  neglected  every  science  not  connected  with  de 
fiance 

Of  a  theoretic  foe, 

And  the  pigeon-hearted  slacker  they  would  beat  till  he 
was  blacker 

Than  the  blackest  thing  you  know ! 


Piping  and  Panning  31 

But  the  thing  I  wished  to  mention  for  your  studious 
attention 

Was  the  outcome  of  the  scrap, 

Long,  but  never  undramatic,  'twixt  the  Doric  and  the 
Attic 

For  a  place  upon  the  map ; 
When  the  Spartans  military  went  against  the  literary 

Men  of  Athens  from  afar — 

And  the  gentlemen  artistic  from  the  warriors  pugilistic 
Knocked  the  everlasting  tar! 


32  Piping  and  Panning 


PUZZLED 

She  climbed  that  fence,  one  day,  when  I 
Just  happened  to  be  standing  by; 
A  charming  flush  was  on  her  face, 
As,  with  a  sort  of  awkward  grace, 
She  squirmed  across,  with  skirts  awry. 

I  cannot  think  I  played  the  spy — 
I  had  not  come  to  peep  and  pry. 
A  gleam  of  silk,  a  flash  of  lace — 
She  climbed  that  fence ! 

She  must  have  known  the  fence  was  high, 
She  must  have  known  that  I  was  nigh. 
The  gate  was  in  its  proper  place — 
She  used  it  coming  back.     Oh  base 
Suspicion !  .   .   .  Yet,  I  wonder  why 
She  climbed  that  fence. 


Piping  and  Panning  33 


LONGING 

I  think  I  have  a  modern  mind, 

I  like  the  latest  fads  and  fancies; 
My  roomy  shelves  are  always  lined 

With  strictly  up  to  date  romances. 
The  newest  modes  of  thought  and  art 

Are  sure  to  gain  my  strict  adherence, 
And  all  the  ethics  reckoned  smart 

On  first  appearance. 

I  think  the  Teuton  should  be  led 

By  kindly  laws  to  love  the  Latin ; 
I  think  that  convicts  should  be  fed 

On  terrapin,  and  clothed  in  satin; 
Much  of  my  leisure  I  devote 

To  faddy  foods  and  prophylaxis ; 
Women,  I  think,  should  have  the  vote, 

And  pay  the  taxes. 

But,  ah!     Sometimes  I  sit  and  muse 

On  days  of  old,  when  knights  were  knightly ; 
And  think  that  we  go  near  to  lose 

The  simple  art  of  living  rightly. 
Not  so  complex  the  rule  of  life, 

In  spacious  days  of  Goth  and  Vandal — 
A  gentleman  could  lick  his  wife 

Without  a  scandal. 


34  Piping  and  Panning 

The  world  is  better  now,  than  then, 

And  life,  of  course,  is  more  worth  living ; 
We've  fairer  women,  wiser  men, 

And  greater  cause  for  glad  thanksgiving. 
We  go  too  far,  though — grow  too  quick — 

I  think  forbearance  must  depress  them ; 
We  ought  to  be  allowed  to  lick 

Our  wives,  God  bless  them! 


Piping  and  Panning  35 


A  PLAINT 

Written  by  a  man  whose  wife  has  gone  away  on  a  visit, 
leaving  him  alone  in   the  house. 

Though  but  a  day  or  two  are  passed,  my  dear, 
Since  you  departed  on  your  little  trip, 

I  long  full-soul  again  to  have  you  here; 
I  go  with  moistened  eye  and  quivering  lip 

About  the  tasks  that  you  were  wont  to  do ; 

My  heart  is  empty,  and  I  long  for  you ! 

I  miss  you  from  the  breakfast  table,  love, 
And  equally  when  comes  my  time  to  lunch; 

Strange  echoes  sound  from  empty  rooms  above — 
Beneath  my  feet  there  sounds  a  sickening  scrunch ! 

Nothing,  I  think,  obtains  my  nanny  more 

Than  doth  ground  coffee,  sprinkled  on  the  floor. 

I  do  not  like  the  bed  I  used  last  night — 
The  guest  room  isn't  half  so  nice  as  ours ; 

But  ours  seems  rumpled,  and  to  fix  it  right, 
I  have  discovered,  is  beyond  my  powers. 

The  baby's  bed  shall  be  tonight's  resort — 

Tomorrow  night,  I'll  use  the  davenport. 

Come  back,  dear  love,  ere  I  abandon  hope ! 

It  is  a  helpless,  lonely  soul  that  begs ! 
I  cannot  find  the  matches,  or  the  soap — 

And  no  clean  pans  are  left  for  frying  eggs. 
The  sink  is  clogged  with  broken  loaves  and  fishes, 
The  tables  all  are  heaped  with  dirty  dishes ! 


36  Piping  and  Panning 

Come  back,  sweet  girl,  and  soothe  an  aching  heart ! 

Come  back  and  cheer  this  miserable  poet ! 
I  always  felt  we  could  not  live  apart, 

And  now,  from  dire  experience,  I  know  it! 
Naught,  naught  is  left  my  anguish  to  divert — 
No  joys  in  life,  no  buttons  on  my  shirt ! 


Piping  and  Panning  37 


UNCONGENIAL 

He  attracted  me — he'd  loaned  me 

Rare  old  books,  and  such  as  that; 
I  was  glad,  then,  when  he  phoned  me 

He  was  coming  for  a  chat. 
I  admired  his  bookish  learning, 

And  his  culture  being  all 
That  one  speaks  of  as  "  discerning," 

I  looked  forward  to  his  call. 

I  prepared  my  little  study 

For  an  evening  of  delight — 
Built  the  grate  fire  warm  and  ruddy, 

Drew  the  shades  against  the  night; 
Slightly  altered  the  positions 

Of  the  footstools,  here  and  there — 
Laid  my  treasured  First  Editions 

By  the  comfortablest  chair. 

Then  I  opened  up  a  dandy 

Box  of  superfine  cigars; 
And  I  put  tobacco  handy 

In  some  humidors  and  jars. 
And  the  meerschaums  and  the  briers 

That  are  very  special  pets — 
Purged  with  ancient,  fragrant  fires !  — 

And  three  kinds  of  cigarets. 


38  Piping  and  Panning 

Well,  he  came.    And  he  departed 

Earlier  than  I  had  planned; 
And  I'm  not  so  broken-hearted 

That  he's  gone,  you  understand. 
Yes,  I  know  that  he  is  very 

Clever,  and  can  talk  and  joke; 
Yes,  his  tastes  are  literary, 

But — the  fellow  doesn't  smoke! 


Piping  and  Panning  39 


MAKING  MYSTERY 

The  man  that  fixed  my  typewriter,  he  showed  me  what 

was  wrong; 
He  fixed  the  little  dingus  that  had  bothered  me  so 

long, 
He  straightened  out  a  doodad,  and  he  tightened  up  a 

screw, 
And  the  old  machine  made  music  as  it  did  when  it 

was  new ! 
It   took   but   fifteen   minutes   to    adjust   the   twisted 

gear — 
And  I  had  tinkered  vainly  at  the  thing  for  half  a 

year; 

I  voiced  my  admiration,  as  the  man  picked  up  his  hat — 
"  I  wish  that  I  could  learn,"  said  I,  "  to  fix  up  things 

like  that ! " 

The  man  that  fixed  my  typewriter,  he  frankly  an 
swered,  "  Why, 

It's  something  anyone  can  do — you've  only  got  to 
try, 

You  keep  this  oiled,  you  keep  that  clean,  you  give  this 
screw  a  turn, 

Do  thus  and  so  and  t'other,  and  that's  all  you've  got 
to  learn. 

Now  sit  and  write  a  line  or  two,  and  see  how  smooth 
it  goes." 

So  I  sat  and  wrote  a  jingle,  which  is  easier  than  prose. 


4O  Piping  and  Panning 

And  as  I  wrote,  that  young  mechanic  worshipfully 

sat— 
"  My  gosh !  "  cried  he,  "  I  wish  that  I  could  do  a  stunt 

like  that ! " 

I  did  not  answer  honestly,  as  he  had  done — not  I — 
"  It's  something  anyone  can  do ;  you've  only  got  to  try. 
You  scatter  accents  evenly,  and  give  your  words  a  turn, 
Do  thus  and  so  and  t'other,  and  that's  all  you've  got  to 

learn." 

I  did  not  answer  honestly  to  him — but  what's  the  use  ? 
He  has  explained  his  trade,  but  still  it's  cryptic  as  the 

deuce. 

So  let  me  think  that  fixing  up  machinery  is  hard, 
And  I  will  still  pretend  that  it  takes  brains  to  be  a 

bard! 


Piping  and  Panning  41 


HOW  HE  TURNED  OUT 

When  he  was  young,  his  parents  saw  (as  parents  by 
the  million  see) 

That  Rollo  had  an  intellect  of  quite  unequaled  bril 
liancy  ; 

They  started  in  his  training  from  the  hour  of  his 
nativity, 

And  carefully  they  cultivated  every  bright  proclivity. 

At  eight,  he  ate  up  authors  like  a  literary  cannibal, 
At  nine  he  mastered  Latin  as  the  Latins  mastered  Han 
nibal  ; 

At  ten  he  knew  astronomy  and  differential  calculus, 
And  at  eleven  could  dissect  the  tiniest  animalculus. 

At  twelve,  he  learned  orthometry,  and  started  in  to 
master  all 

The  different  kinds  of  poetry,  the  lyric  and  the  pas 
toral, 

The  epic  and  dramatic,  the  descriptive  and  didactical, 

With  lessons  theoretical  and  exercises  practical. 

Music  he  learned — the  old  and  sweet,  the  up-to-date 

and  hideous ; 

He  painted  like  Apelles  and  he  modeled  like  a  Phidias ; 
In  language  he  was  polyglot,  in  rhetoric  Johnsonian, 
In  eloquence  Websterian,  in  diction  Ciceronian. 


42  Piping  and  Panning 

At  last,  with  learning  that  would  set  an  ordinary  head 

agog, 
His  education  far  outshone  his  most  proficient  pe< 

And  sog<he  'entered  life,  with  all  his  lore  to  lift  the  lid 

for  him — 
And  what  do  you  imagine  that  his  erudition  c 

him? 

Alas!  I  fear  the  truth  will  shock  you,  rather  than 

amuse  you  all — 
To  those  who've  read  this  sort  of  verse,  the  seque 

unusual ; 
This  man  (it's  hard  on  humor,  for  it  breaks  the  wel 

known  laws  of  it!) 
Was  happier  for  his  learning,  and  a  great  succ< 

because  of  itl 


Piping  and  Panning  43 


THE  AUCTIONEER 

I  was  walking  t'other  morning,  strolling  through  the 

busy  city, 
In  a  noisy  portion  of  it,  in  a  district  strange  and 

crowded ; 
When  there  rose  without  a  warning  something  like  a 

lilting  ditty — 
Though  the  racket  rose  above  it,  it  was  never  dulled 

or  shrouded. 

And  it  rose  and  fell  insistent,  penetrating  and  stac 
cato 
Like  a  sort  of  obbligato  to  the  chorus  near  and 

distant  ; 
And  my  idle  feet  went  straying  toward  the  music  so 

impassioned — 

Twas  a  sale — and  the   old-fashioned   funny  auc 
tioneer  was  saying: 

"  Got  the  quarter,  gimme  thirty,  got  the  quarter, 

gimme  thirty, 
I   want   thirty,   gimme   thirty— drop   that,   kid,   your 

hands  are  dirty! 
Got  the  thirty,   now   be  sporty — spring  a  dime  and 

make  it  forty — 
Make  it  forty,  I  want  forty,  where's  the  forty,  gimme 

forty, 
Forty,   forty,   forty— blank  you,  are  you  all  asleep? 

I  thank  you — 


44  Piping  and  Panning 

Here's  a  gent  awake  and  thrifty — got  the  forty,  gimme 
fifty, 

Got  the  forty,  gimme  fifty.  Listen!  Here's  a  first- 
class,  nifty 

Bargain — and  I  have  to  holler  till  I'm  hoarse  for  half 
a  dollar! 

What's  the  matter,  for  gawsake — you  think  a  dime  will 
make  or  break  you? 

Here's  a  solid,  tested,  candled,  full-jooled  and  ma- 
hog'ny  handled, 

All  wool,  guaranteed,  imported,  fireproof,  airtight 
picked  and  sorted 

Gen-you-wine  French  Russia  leather,  automatic  inno 
vation — 

Wear  it  in  all  kinds  of  weather,  and  beware  of  imi 
tation  ! 

Going — once!  Why,  folks,  we're  throwing  these 
away !  It's  wicked !  Going 

Twice!  Say,  are  you  here  for  pastime?  Going  for 
the  third  and  last  time — 

Sold — to  that  gent  with  the  funny  set  o'  whiskers. 
Get  his  money !  " 

Then  I  went,  my  ear  drums  ringing,  but  I  knew — and 

still  I  know  it — 
Where  the  "  Hiawatha  "  poet  learned  the  manner  of 

his  singing ! 


Piping  and  Panning  45 


"ELEVEN    MILLION   WORDS    FREQUENTLY 
MISPRONOUNCED  " 

I  won  a  little  wager 

On  the  name  of  Meleager, 

As  to  how  it  should  be  properly  pronounced. 

And  my  scholarly  opponent  who  was  trounced 
Made  a  bold  attempt  to  borrow 
The  brochure  that  brought  him  sorrow. 
But  I  wouldn't  let  him  take 

It,  that's  all  there  is  about  it ; 
Though  I  hate  it  like  a  snake, 

Yet  I  couldn't  do  without  it. 
I  consult  the  volume  daily,  though  it's  wormwood  and 

it's  gall 
To  find  that  I  say  rightly  scarcely  any  words  at  all ! 

Whene'er  I  take  a  look 
In  that  nasty  little  book, 

Then  I  blush  in  contemplation 
Of  my  common  conversation, 

And  bewail  the  money  wasted  on  the  sort  of  education 
That  was  sawed  off  on  my  unsuspecting  youth. 
Tt  was  criminal  conversion — that's  the  truth! 

But  I'm  learning  something,  now, 

And  you'd  laugh  to  notice  how 
I  can  always  take  a  fall 
Out  of  friends  who  come  to  call, 

Though  they're  very  altitudinous  of  brow! 


46  Piping  and  Panning 

Here  I've  learned  that  Mrs.  Hemans 

Should  be  made  to  rhyme  with  lemons, 
And  I've  made  her  rhyme  with   demons,  till  to 
day! 

And  I  used  to  think  "  paresis  " 

Was  a  perfect  rhyme  for  "  thesis  " — 
But    it's    "Harris's"    it    rhymes    with,    so    they 
say. 

And  I  used  to  think  "  Pariah  " 

Made  a  jingle  with  "  Maria," 
And  that  ptomaine  rhymed  with  Romaine, 
And  that  Cocaine  rhymed  with  Joe  Kane; 

I  thought  that  every  Highland  lad 

Was  wont  to  wear  a  tartan  plaid, 
And  by  this  book  I'm  now  dismayed 
To  learn  that  Scots  pronounce  it  "  plaid." 

Oh,  potato  is  potato, 

On  the  hill  or  in  the  grotto, 
But  there's  some  that  say  tomato, 

While  the  others  say  tomato. 
And  I  contemplate  a  seizure 

Of  some  light  complaint,  with  pleasure — 
Shall  I  say  it  gives  me  leisure, 

Or  that  now  I'll  have  some  leisure? 
Some  day,  when  life's  fitful  fever 

Leaves,  or  ere  I  sleep  forever, 
Haply  I'll  recall  if  "  lever  " 

Is  correct,  or  if  it's  "lever"! 


Piping  and  Panning  47 

If  I  only  take  a  look,  I  can  find  it  in  my  book — 
To  remember  all  these  things  is  only  luck; 

But  the  thing  that  makes  me  mad  at  that  little  book, 

egad, 
Is,  I  never  have  it  with  me  when  I'm  stuck! 


48  Piping  and  Panning 


VALE! 

A  Chicago  professor  gives  the  opinion  that  time  is  wasted 
in  the  study  of  Latin  and  Gr-eek.  He  thinks  that  the  dead 
should  be  allowed  to  bury  their  dead  languages,  and  that 
something  useful  should  be  taught  in  our  colleges. 

Ay,  Prof.,  you're  right !  Those  dogs  have  had  their 
day; 

Back  to  their  shades  let  modern  scholars  send  'em. 
Dry  as  their  dust,  let's  put  'em  on  their  way — 

Nunc  est  bibendum! 

In  former  times,  'twas  very  well  to  be 
Up  in  the  classics.    But  we're  getting  canny 

As  years  glide  past  us — "  Eheu,  Posiwne, 
Labuntur  anni!" 

Farewell,  ye  Greeks !    Romans,  a  long  good-bye ! 

Hebrews,  no  more  to  you  shall  scholars  toady ! 
We're  done  with  Virgil,  Homer,  Omar — ay, 

"Persicosodi!" 

Helen  talks  Spanish,  now ;  Euphrosyne 

Speaks  French — why  not  ?    There's  nothing  to  pre 
vent  'em. 
In  Low  Dutch  I  can  hear  sweet  Lalage 

" Dulce  loquentem" 

'Tis  settled,  so  a  truce  to  all  of  this. 

The  gods  are  dead — the  profs  have  overthrown  'em. 
Great  Pan  is — never  mind;  " De  mortuis 

Nil  nisi  bonum!" 


Piping  and  Panning  49 


WE  OLYMPIANS 

I  studied  Lucian  in  my  youth 

(Though  not  advised  to  by  my  teachers) 
And  learned  from  him  the  joyous  truth 

That  gods  are  very  human  creatures; 
And  that  howe'er  with  tawdry  art 

And  vain  display  we  prink  and  primp  us, 
Our  follies  had  a  counterpart 

Among  the  dwellers  on  Olympus. 

The  petty  spats,  the  vanities, 

The  sulks  and  silly  altercations ; 
The  family  jars,  the  jealousies, 

The  semi-serious  flirtations— 
Indeed  they  were  so  much  at  odds, 

So  prone  to  fight  instead  of  frolic, 
Methinks  the  nectar  of  the  gods 

Was  very  largely  alcoholic! 

Though  when  they  came  to  earth,  no  doubt 

They  thought  to  make  mere  man  their  debtor, 
I  think  the  less  that's  said  about 

The  gallantries  of  Zeus,  the  better. 
And  Ares  came  to  make  us  rue 

The  day  Prometheus  wrought  to  shape  us, 
And  Dionysjiis  added  to 

The  horrid  mischief  of  Priapus ! 


50  Piping  and  Panning 

When  a  mere  mortal  goes  astray, 

He  blames  it  on  his  human  nature; 
What  have  the  erring  gods  to  say 

Before  their  own  high  legislature? 
We  men  expect  creation's  lords 

To  be  correct  in  thought  and  action — 
The  fact  that  they  are  not,  affords 

Considerable  satisfaction. 


Piping  and  Panning  51 


AN  OLD  FABLE 

The  Grasshopper  knocked  at  the  Ant's  back  door, 

When  the  autumn  winds  blew  cold, 
For  he  knew  that  the  Ant  had  a  toothsome  store, 

Of  the  Grub  that  is  better  than  Gold. 
"  Oh,  give  me  a  bed  and  a  bite,"  he  said, 

But  the  Ant  replied,  "  Not  so— 
You're  an  idle  bummer  who  sang  all  summer, 

So  now  you  can  go  eat  snow ! 

REFRAIN 

"I  shan't,  I  shan't,  I  shan't! 
It's  good  for  your  health  to  bant — 
It's  highly  improper  for  any  Grasshopper 
To  sponge  from  a  thrifty  Ant ! " 

The  Grasshopper  sang  a  melodious  song, 

And  this  is  the  way  it  went — 
"  I've  been  on  the  jump  all  summer  long, 

But  I  couldn't  lay  up  a  cent! 
You  crawled  around  on  the  sandy  ground, 

I  hustled  the  season  through; 
As  one  of  the  Masses,  I  ask  you  to  pass  us 

Your  unearned  revenue !  " 

REFRAIN 

"  You  can't,  you  can't,  you  can't ! 
Let  Socialists  rave  and  rant, 


52  Piping  and  Panning 

Such  grasshopper-logic  is  too  demagogic 
To  bother  a  frugal  Ant ! " 

The  Grasshopper  softly  began  to  sing 

An  amorous  chansonette. 
(Have  I  told  you  the  Ant  was  a  feminine  thing, 

And  a  sort  of  a  suffragette?) 
"  Oh,  let  us  be  wed,  dear  Ant !  "  he  said— 

"  Tis  for  love,  not  food,  I  die ! " 
He  sang  it  so  slickly,  he  landed  her  quickly, 

In  spite  of  her  shocked  reply — 

REFRAIN 

"I  shan't— you  shan't— I  can't!" 
(Her  bosom  began  to  pant! — 
It's  very  improper  for  any  Grasshopper 
To  flirt  with  a  maiden  Ant!) 


Piping  and  Panning  53 


THE  QUESTION  SETTLED 

The  average  man's  heart  weighs  from  ten  to  twelve  ounces; 
the  average  woman's  from  eight  to  ten. — ANATOMY  NOTE. 

So  it  is  settled — the  vexed  question,  old 
As  Eve  and  Adam,  young  as  you  and  me : 

Which  loves  the  other  more,  when  all  is  told — 
Is't  He  or  She? 

Score  one  for  Man !    By  nature's  changeless  laws, 
He  wins  the  right  to  chortle  and  to  snigger, 

His  love  is  proven  greater,  just  because 
His  heart  is  bigger. 

But  I,  my  dear,  won't  rub  it  in  on  you; 

Why  talk  of  what  the  scientist  discovers? 
It's  settled,  but — well,  what's  an  ounce  or  two 

Between  us  lovers? 

You'd  still  debate  it  ?    Holy  smoke  !    Great  Scott ! 

All  right — I'll  yield,  lest  I  should  seem  a  churl ; 
I  am  an  average  man,  but  you  are  not 

An  average  girl ! 


Piping  and  Panning 


AFFECTIONS 

When  blue  the  arch  that  bends  above, 
And  sweet  the  breeze  as  taffy, 

I  love  my  country  with  a  love 
That's  nothing  less  than  daffy; 

'Tis  then  I  love  those  rocks  and  rills, 

Those  woods  and  well  known  templed  hills. 

Oh,  then  my  heart,  as  in  the  song, 

Reacts  to  thrills  of  rapture, 
And  I  admire  the  Pilgrim  throng 

Who  took  the  land  by  capture, 
And  made  the  Indians  move  away, 
However  much  they  wished  to  stay. 

For  time  has  proved  the  Pilgrims  right, 

And  I  approve  the  sequel — 
How  otherwise  could  I  delight 

In  being  free  and  equal  ? 
How  could  I  dance  with  holy  glee, 
And  sing,  "  My  country,  'tis  of  thee  "? 

Now,  should  a  host  of  foemen  come 

Across  the  Heap  Big  Water 
I'd  toot  my  trumpet,  beat  my  drum, 

And  whet  my  sword  for  slaughter. 
And  if  they  said  that  they  were  Pil- 
Grim  Fathers,  I'd  laugh  fit  to  kill ! 


Piping  and  Panning  55 

I  love  my  land  a  lot  too  much 

To  let  another  land  it; 
I  love  my  land  to  beat  the  Dutch, 

Or  any  alien  bandit; 
I  love  its  climate  and  its  trees, 
Therefore,  let  music  swell  the  breeze ! 

Let  mortal  tongues  awake,  and  cinch 
These  gifts  of  heaven's  bounty ; 

No  enemy  shall  have  one  inch 
Of  Cuyahoga  county! 

No  foeman's  foot  shall  ever  tread 

My  patriotic  onion  bed ! 

And  so,  'neath  Freedom's  holy  light 
Long  may  my  beans  be  weeded; 

Long  may  our  native  land  be  bright — 
Except  when  rain  is  needed ! 

I  love  my  country  more  than  breath, 

So  give  me  liberty  or  death! 


5 6  Piping  and  Panning 


TO  ORDER 

"  Oh,  for  a  poet  to  sing  the  praises  of  a  hot  brick! " 

— DONAHEY. 

I  sing  the  brick,  the  balmy  brick, 

The  brick  that  bars  the  blustering  blizzard ! 

The  brick  that's  wrapped  with  flannel  thick, 
To  warm  the  feet  and  cheer  the  gizzard! 

The  blessed  brick  that  cures  the  sick — 
Wild  winter's  wise  and  wondrous  wizard ! 

Brick  of  my  sires,  that  saved  their  toes 

Ere  water  bags  had  been  invented ! 
Brick  of  my  youth,  that  soothed  my  woes, 

And  made  me  drowsy  and  contented! 
Thy  memory  like  a  hearth  fire  glows — 

As  dear,  as  warm,  as  much  lamented! 

Around  that  memory  what  a  flock 

Of  tender  recollection  hovers! 
They  heated  thee  beside  the  crock 

Where  raised  the  dough  for  buckwheat  lovers — 
Then  wrapped  thee  in  a  woolen  sock, 

And  shoved  thee  down  beneath  the  covers ! 

Quick  we  disrobed  and  tucked  us  in 
With  tingling  toes  and  ankles  bitey, 

And  quick  thy  warmth  caressed  each  shin 
In  mystic  manner,  mild  but  mighty, 

And  smoothed  the  gooseflesh  on  the  skin 
That  shivered  underneath  our  nighty ! 


Piping  and  Panning  57 

O  beauteous  brick !     For  comfort's  sake, 
Long  in  our  love  our  souls  shall  see  thee ! 

No  clammy,  rubber  bag  may  take 

Thy  place,  nor  banishment  decree  thee ! 

Share  thou  our  couch  for  aye,  and  make 
Our  winter's  sleep  a  perfect  Lethe! 


58  Piping  and  Panning 


THE  WOES  OF  YOUTH 

I  do  believe  that  one  becomes 

More  easy  minded,  happier,  bolder, 
Less  prone  to  worry  over  sums 

That  won't  work  out,  as  one  grows  older. 
I  think  my  appetite's  more  keen, 

I'm  less  mature,  and  think  more  simply 
Than  when  I  was  but  seventeen, 

And  pimply. 

I  nearly  died  because  a  lass 

Had  criticized  my  taste  in  collars; 
I  thought  that  I  would  have  no  class 

At  all  without  a  million  dollars. 
I  thought  I'd  always  stay  a  kid, 

Because — O  horrible  affliction ! — 
I  couldn't  talk  as  people  did 

In  fiction. 


Life  was  a  complicated  coil 

That  only  heroes  could  unravel — 
Men  who  consumed  much  midnight  oil, 

And  had  a  chance  of  foreign  travel. 
Love  was  a  heavenly  thing,  and  too 

Sacred  for  me — a  wicked  sinner — 
I  loved,  but  was  too  base,  I  knew, 

To  win  her! 


Piping  and  Panning  59 

Who  sings  "  the  simple  joys  of  youth 

When  life  brims  o'er  with  sparkling  bubbles  " 
Is  either  playing  with  the  truth, 

Or  has  forgotten  all  his  troubles, 
Youth  is  a  thing  of  fear  and  doubt, 

Whose  heart  each  terror  stabs  and  mangles ; 
It  takes  the  years  to  straighten  out 

The  tangles ! 


60  Piping  and  Panning 


THE  CRITIC'S  APOLOGY 

Think  not,  dear  readers,  that  I  pose, 

Or,  a  presuming  person, 
Think  I  am  wise  in  verse  and  prose 

And  things  that  one  writes  verse  on. 
Though  I  am  bound  to  criticize 

At  times,  and  get  the  best  of  you, 
It  does  not  follow  that  I'm  wise 

Beyond  the  rest  of  you. 

To  each  one  of  the  public  though, 

Some  one  thing  is  a  dumb  thing ; 
Though  wise  to  most  things,  don't  you  know 

He's  ignorant  of  something. 
There  follows  then  this  circumstance 

Through  all  pretentious  swaggering — 
The  aggregate  of  ignorance 

Is  something  staggering ! 

If  A  knows  everything  but  x, 

While  x  is  B's  whole  learning, 
B  can  teach  A — why  should  it  vex 

A,  if  A  be  discerning? 
So  though,  dear  public,  what  you  do 

I  find  absurd  and  humorous, 
I'm  just  as  ignorant  as  you, — 

But  not  so  numerous! 


Piping  and  Panning  6 1 


A  VAIN  LONGING 

I'd  love  to  be  a  housewife !    I  should  love  to  spend  my 

day 

In  a  cozy  little  kitchen  while  the  moments  sped  away ! 
With  the  nicey,  spicy  odors,  homey,  and  yet  sharp  and 

strange, 
And  the  genial  warmth  proceeding  from  the  cunning 

little  range ; 
With  the  mysteries  of  cooking,  and  the  knowledge  of 

the  power 
To  turn  out  a  fresh  creation  of  one's  genius,  every 

hour; 
Oh,  the  drudgery  of  rhyming  is  a  tame  and  thankless 

thing — 
I  should  love  to  be  a  housewife,  that  my  very  soul 

might  sing! 

I'd  love  to  be  a  housewife !  Making  beds  and  sweep 
ing  floors — 

Washing  windows  if  I  chanced  to  need  some  exercise 
outdoors ; 

Ne'er  a  thought  of  earning  wages  to  disturb  the  care 
less  brain 

Ne'er  a  fear  of  boss  or  foreman  with  its  constant, 
prodding  pain ; 

Just  the  simple  round  of  duty,  with  the  mind  at  perfect 
rest. 

Thinking  thoughts  of  love  and  beauty — free,  and  giv 
ing  forth  its  best; 


62  Piping  and  Panning 

Oh,  the  world  with  all  its  worries  is  a  falsehood  and 

a  snare — 
And  I  fain  would  be  a  housewife,  free  from  every 

earthly  care! 

Would  that  I  had  been  a  housewife !    Naught  annoys 

her,  year  by  year, 
But  the  tinner  and  the  plumber  when  the  bathroom's 

out  of  gear, 
And  the  grocer  and  the  garbage  and  the  babies  and 

the  rugs, 
And  the  garden  and  the  furnace  and  the  roaches  and 

the  bugs, 
And  the  neighbors  with  their  gossip  and  the  iceman 

with  his  dirt, 
And  a  slouchy,  grouchy  husband  with  the  buttons  off 

his  shirt — 
Oh,  it's  fine  to  be  a  housewife,  sheltered  from  the 

madding  mob, 
(But  a  man  that  digs  a  sewer  has  a  sweeter,  easier 

job!) 


Piping  and  Panning  63 


THE  LAST  FRONTIER 

Far  from  the  city's  uttermost  edge, 

And  even  beyond  the  suburban  bounds, 
(Not  even  a  factory  had  split  a  wedge 

Into  the  odors  and  sights  and  sounds 
Of  the  virgin  country!)  we  wandered  forth, 

And  breathed  in  the  freedom  of  rural  space — 
And  we  looked  to  the  south  and  we  looked  to  the 
north, 

And  we  seemed  alone  in  the  Lord's  own  place ! 

Jack-in-the-Pulpits  and  violets 

Trilliums,  bloodroot  and  liverworts, 
We  found  and  we  noted — for  one  forgets 

In  the  space  of  a  winter,  the  various  sorts — 
Birds  and  serpents  and  toads  and  snails 

In  trees  and  hollows  we  found  with  glee — 
Till  at  last  we  wandered  from  human  trails, 

And  nothing  was  left  but  the  world  to  see ! 

Finally,  lonesome  for  humankind, 

(So  doth  the  townbred  soul  grow  fond!) 
We  searched  a  dwelling  of  man  to  find, 

And  lit  on  a  cabin,  far  beyond. 
Such  is  the  shack  that  the  lumberman  rears, 

Over  the  border  and  far  away — 
Such  were  the  huts  of  the  pioneers 

On  the  far  frontiers  in  a  bygone  day! 


64  Piping  and  Panning 

Bravely,  if  wearily,  trekked  we  thence 

To  the  tiny  home  in  the  desert  waste — 
Fainting  we  stopped  at  the  crazy  fence 

That  bounded   the   yard   where   the   hut   was 

placed. 
Out  rushed  our  savior — a  man,  God  wot ! — 

Shouting  a  welcoming  cry  to  us, 
Bidding  us  rest  in  his  rustic  cot, 

Chanting  a  comforting  paean,  thus: — 

"  This  is  the  haven  ye  long  have  sought, 

This  is  the  well  in  a  waste  despised! 
These  are  the  acres  you'd  ought  to've  bought, 

This  here's  the  frontage  we've  advertised ! 
Here  is  the  sewer  we're  putting  through — 

Here's  where  the  street  cars  will  run,   some 

day — 
This  here's  a  lot  that  I'll  sell  to  you 

For — "    (We  heard  no  more — we  had  swooned 
away!) 


Piping  and  Panning  65 


WITH  US 

Spring  missed  us,  this  year, 

But  the  summer  is  coming — 
Just  hark,  and  you'll  hear 

How  its  herald  is  humming ! 

Don't  you  notice  that  drumming 
Way  off  in  the  distance, 
Coming  nearer  and  nearer  with  thrilling  insistence  ? 

Just  note  how  it  mumbles 

And  grumbles  and  rumbles — 
Its  chariots  and  horses  and  bugles  come  closer — 
An  army  ?    Why,  no  sir — 

Tis  summer  itself, 

Ushered  in  by  an  Elf 
And  a  legion  of  varmints 
In  many-hued  garments, 

Skin-tight  and  bifurcous — 

My  friend,  it's  the  Circus ! 

And  now  it's  so  near 

That  a  blind  man  could  tell  it ; 
You  don't  have  to  hear, 

Nor  to  see — you  can  smell  it ! 
And  oh,  what  a  luscious,  magnificent  scent, 
From  the  gate  of  the  grounds  to  the  door  of  the 
tent! 

Bolognas  and  "  Coneys  " 

And  small  sweaty  ponies, 


66  Piping  and  Panning 

And  popcorn  and  camels  and  red  lemonade; 

Deep-lying,  raw  dust, 

Babies  and  sawdust — 
Food  for  the  beasts  that  prefer  it  decayed ; 

Limp,  paper  dollars, 
Gretchens  and  Lenas, 

Celluloid  collars, 
Apes  and  hyenas; 

Monkeys  and  acrobats,  dogs  and  Hawaiians, 

Elephants,  stakedrivers,  garlic  and  lions; 
Leather  well  lathered, 

And  animal  cages — 
Smells  that  are  gathered 

From  all  climes  and  ages — 
Mixed  all  together,  they  make  up  the  whole 
Of  the  circus-smell — summer-smell — balm  to  the  soul ! 


Piping  and  Panning  67 


THE  PLAINT  OF  APOLLOS 

Paul  swore  he'd  plant  a  garden,  and 

He  did  that   little  thing; 
He  sowed  away  to  beat  the  band 

For  half  a  day,  this  spring. 
The  ground  was  plowed  and  harrowed  fine, 

And  that  appealed  to  Paul. 
And  so  he  went  right  down  the  line, 

And  drilled  and  sowed  it  all. 


He  planted  peas,  he  planted  beans, 

He  planted  onions,  too; 
He  planted  beets,  he  planted  greens, 

He  planted  all  he  knew. 
And  when  he  made  it  half  a  day 

Of  course  he  had  to  quit — 
But  said,  just  as  he  went  away, 

I  might  look  after  it. 

The  days  are  long,  from  noon  to  noon, 

Down  on  this  little  farm; 
And  I  must  work  both  late  and  soon 

To  keep  the  truck  from  harm. 
And  I  must  bug  and  hoe  and  weed 

Until  my  back  is  sore, 
To  show  a  profit  on  that  seed 

When  Paul  comes  back  once  more. 


68  Piping  and  Panning 

And  there  has  come  a  dreadful  drought 

Upon  the  thirsty  soil, 
And  water  I  must  carry  out 

With  slow  and  grievous  toil; 
I  dare  not  spend  a  week  in  town, 

For  fear  that,  should  I  go, 
A  parlous  blight  would  settle  down 

And  lay  Paul's  garden  low. 

But  patiently  I  wait  for  Paul — 

I  know  I  can't  be  wrong — 
He  will  return  before  it's  fall, 

And  bring  his  friends  along; 
God  gave  the  increase,  I  suppose, 

But  Paul,  that  pleasant  elf, 
Will  show  with  pride  the  fruited  rows 

Of  "  stuff  he  raised  himself  !  " 


Piping  and  Panning  69 


PUNCHINELLO 

I  tried  to  quit  the  highway,  but  as  I  had  found  a 

byway 
To  the  other  way  from  my  way,  I  was  fronted  by 

a  clown — 
One  who  struck  me  with  a  bladder  full  of  peas !    Ah, 

sure  a  sadder 
Jocund  jester,  or  a  madder  never  wandered  from 

the  town ! 
He  was  daft,  and  going  dafter,  for  he  shrieked  with 

eerie  laughter, 

But  the  tears  that  followed  after  washed  the  red  off 
From  his  face.     "  Now  cease,  old  chap,  your  bunk," 

I  said  "  or  I  will  slap  your 
Silly  head  off !  " 

It  was  hard,  I  don't  deny  it,  but  I  couldn't  stand  the 

riot; 
When  at  last  I  got  him  quiet,  I  inquired  about  his 

name 
And  his  business.    Sitting  squatly,  I  demanded  rather 

hotly 

Why  the  medieval  motley,  what  the  idiotic  game  ? 
I  had  fled  the  conversation  of  acquaintance  and  re 
lation, 

Just  for  quiet  contemplation,  rest  and  languor ; 
And    the    corybantic    twaddle    of    this    shatter-pated 

noddle 
Roused  my  anger. 


yo  Piping  and  Panning 

Then  this  wild  and  woozy  creature  rubbed  each  parti 
colored  feature. 
And  he  mumbled  "  I  entreat  your  pardon !  "    (Here 

he  gave  a  sob) 
"  I'm  the  thing  your  growing  gray  from !    I'm  the  one 

you  cannot  stray  from! 
I  am  what  you  ran  away  from,  till  I  caught  you. 

I'm  your  Job !  " 
Oh,  my  anguish  overcame  me,  and  I  shrieked — and  do 

you  blame  me? 

For  he  sticks  to  me  to  shame  me,  like  a  tumor ! 
He's  my  vampire,  my  obsession,  the  opprobrious  pro 
fession 
Some  call  "Humor!" 


Piping  and  Panning  71 


IT  HAPPENS,  OFTEN 

There  was  a  man  in  our  town 
Whose  Christian  name  was  Jim; 

He  stepped  into  a  pot  of  glue, 
And  fell  and  broke  his  limb. 

The  doctors  tried  to  set  it, 
But  still  it  would  not  mend; 

He  limped  about,  and  would,  no  doubt, 
Be  limping  to  the  end, 

But  on  a  day  it  happened 
He  walked  abroad,  and  then 

He  stepped  into  some  other  glue, 
And  broke  his  leg  again. 

And  when  his  leg  was  mended, 
And  he  was  out  once  more, 

Both  leg  and  man  were  stronger  than 
They'd  ever  been  before ! 

So,  when  I  broke  my  heart,  once, 
I  thought  of  Mister  Jim — 

I  went  and  broke  it  once  again, 
Now  I'm  as  well  as  him ! 


72  Piping  and  Panning 


MENTAL  PABULUM 

When  I  was  a  little  boy, 

Every  story  had  a  moral — 
"  Industry  Is  Crowned  with  Joy ;  " 

"  Little  Children  Should  Not  Quarrel." 
"  Slow  and  Steady  Wins  the  Race ;  " 

"  Save  Today,  and  Have  Tomorrow ;  " 
"  Poverty  Is  No  Disgrace ;  " 

"  Careless  Habits  Lead  to  Sorrow." 


All  the  Good  Boys  started  poor, 

All  the  Bad  Boys  rolled  in  riches ; 
Villain  was  a  well  dressed  boor, 

Scorning  patches  on  his  breeches. 
But  the  climax  of  the  tale 

Showed  these  unjust  things  adjusted- 
Hero  always  rolled  in  kale, 

Villain  always  finished  busted. 

If  we  might  proceed,  I  thought, 

To  the  second  generation, 
We  should  find  our  families  brought 

To  an  opposite  relation; 
Virtue  wears  a  ragged  coat, 

Vicious  kids  in  satin  toddle — 
Hero's  son  would  be  the  goat, 

Villain's  son  would  be  the  model ! 


Piping  and  Panning  73 

Villain's  grandson  would  be  bad, 

Hero's  grandson  on  the  level ; 
V's  great-grandson,  charming  lad — 

H's  ditto,  perfect  devil! 
So,  although  my  youthful  mind 

With  an  author  dared  not  quarrel, 
In  the  long  run  I  could  find 

No  quite  satisfying  moral! 


74  Piping  and  Panning 


A  SAD  THOUGHT 

Old  Homer,  in  his  very  justly  famous  epic,  speaks 

Of  many  a  handsome  leader  of  his  clan; 
But  also  he  has  mentioned  that  among  the  warring 

Greeks 

Existed  one  sublimely  ugly  man. 
A  cross-eyed,  hare-lipped,  hump-backed,  weird  mon 
strosity  was  he, 

Whose  homeliness  alone  procured  him  fame; 
So  all  children  had  convulsions,  if  they  ever  chanced 

to  see 
His  awful  map!    Thersites  was  his  name. 


Now  Nireus,  on  the  other  hand,  he  was  a  handsome 

bird— 

The  kind  some  people  call  a  Pretty  Boy ; 
As  Homer  says  (Book  II,  in  line  Six-hundred  Sev 
enty-third), 

"  The  loveliest  man  that  ever  came  to  Troy !  " 
How  strange  it  was!    Upon  a  day,  this  pair  of  con 
trasts  died, 

And  went  where  heathen  dead  men  have  to  go ; 
They  crossed  the  Styx  together,  and  were  ushered 

side  by  side 
Before  the  throne  of  Pluto,  down  below. 


Piping  and  Panning  75 

King  Pluto  yawned  abysmally  within  his  palace  dim, 

Upon  an  arm-chair  made  of  skulls  and  ribs; 
"And   who  are   these?"   he   wished   to   know;   and 

Hermes  answered  him, 

"  It's  Nireus  and  Thersites,  please  Your  Nibs !  " 
"  Well,  well !  "  the  monarch  muttered ;  "  I  have  heard 

of  them  before — 

Both  Nireus  and  Thersites — this  is  rich ! 
The    Beauty   and    the    Beast   at   once   have   crossed 

Cocytus'  Shore; 
I'm  very  pleased  to  meet  'em.     Which  is  which?" 


7 6  Piping  and  Panning 


"  OUR  SWEETEST  SONGS  " 

I've  read  an  interesting  thing 

About  a  very  clever  man; 
Light  opera's  anointed  king 

Was  Mister  Arthur  Sullivan — 
(The  man  to  whom  I  thus  refer 
Was  shortly  after  made  a  "  Sir  "). 

It  seems  he  suffered  terribly 

For  many  months,  by  Fate's  caprice, 
And,  in  his  keenest  agony, 

He  made  his  merriest  masterpiece; 
Weakened  by  suffering,  sick  and  sore, 
He  wrote  the  tunes  for  "  Pinafore  " ! 

Now,  when  I  have  an  aching  brow, 

A  sore  tooth  or  a  gouty  toe, 
I  can't  write  verses  anyhow — 

Unless  it  be  a  song  of  woe. 
Strange  that  such  difference  should  be 
'Twixt  Arthur  Sullivan  and  me! 

If  I  should  sprain  a  tendon,  say, 
Or  in  an  ankle  put  a  crimp, 

You'd  know  it  on  the  following  day — 
My  feet  would  halt,  my  accents  limp ; 

When  I  am  ill,  I  cannot  joke — 

The  Muse  can  only  sob  and  croak ! 


Piping  and  Panning  77 

We  have  to  sing,  at  all  events, 

But  when  we  sing,  we  make  a  fuss, 

And  that  is  one  marked  difference 
'Twixt  Arthur  Sullivan  and  us. 

His  life  was  dark,  his  songs  were  bright — 

No  wonder  that  they  dubbed  him  knight ! 

Music  may  lull  the  mind  to  rest 
When  all  its  aches  are  in  the  brain; 

Its  charms  may  soothe  the  savage  breast, 
They  cannot  soothe  a  savage  pain. 

And  you  can  bet  your  bottom  dollar 

That  when  I'm  hurt,  I'm  going  to  holler' 


78  Piping  and  Panning 


THE  MYSTERY 

As  supple  a  couple  as  ever  I  spied 

Were  dancing  and  prancing  at  Jollity  Hall; 
I  gazed  at  them  dazed  at  the  grace  of  their  glide, 

The  buoyance,  the  joy^ance,  the  ease  of  it  all ! 
The  heat  on  the  street  on  that  hottest  of  nights 

Was  stifling — but  trifling  compared  with  the  place 
Where  the  two,  mid  that  humid  low  ballroom,  made 
flights 

That  a  swallow  might  follow  in  infinite  grace. 

Her  shoulder  looked  colder  than  marble,  and  fair 

As  the  sifted,  new-drifted,  immaculate  snow; 
As  the  crimson  that  dims  on  the  sun's  dying  glare 

Did  the  peachbloom  in  each  blooming  cheek  of  her 

glow! 
And  the  hair  of  that  pair  of  magicians  remained 

Uncrumpled,  unrumpled,  unruffled  and  neat; 
And  they  ended  as  splendidly  cool  and  unstrained 

As  they  started,  calm-hearted  in  all  of  that  heat ! 

If  I,  too,  should  try  to  exhibit  my  skill 

In  two-steps  and  new  steps,  this  time  of  the  year, 
I  would  melt  in  my  pelt  in  an  instant,  and  spill 

In  a  torrent  abhorrent,  all  over,  I  fear! 
Neither  gracile  nor  facile  in  movement  am  I — 

I'm  a  duffer,  and  suffer  a  lot  from  the  sun ; 
And  I'll  never  endeavor  to  dance — nor  to  fly — 

But  I  wonder,  by  thunder,  just  how  it  is  done! 


Piping  and  Panning  79 


IN  VARIOUS  KEYS 

How  to  do  the  daily  poem?    Shall  we  call  our  friends 
and  show  'em 

Lilting  trochees,  how  we  know  'em  just  like  Mr.  Poe, 
of  yore? 

Shall  we  write  about  the  high  light  in  a  demon's  eyes 
at  twilight, 

Apes  that  crawl  down  through  the  skylight  to  imbue 
their  hands  with  gore? 

Ghosts  that  make  unpleasant  noises — birds  that  ham 
mer  on  the  door, 

Fiends  that  howl  forevermore? 

Or,  moved  by  mellifluous  meter 

To  pleadings  of  passion  and  pain, 
Shall  we  swing  to  a  sway  that  is  sweeter 

Than  rushes  and  ripples  of  rain? 
In  words  that  make  maidenhood's  skin  burn 

While  eyes  that  are  modest  are  dropped— 
In  short,  in  the  measures  that  Swinburne 

Was  wont  to  adopt? 

Shall  staid  iambics  be  our  joy  to  scan, 
And  polished  couplets  of  the  Age  of  Anne? 
Hewn  to  the  line,  the  chips  fall  where  they  must, 
The  figures  classic,  and  the  measures  just ; 
Here  careful  art  and  industry  combine, 
The  tropes  to  polish  and  to  turn  the  line ; 


80  Piping  and  Panning 

Here  rule  and  compass  point  the  way  to  truth, 
And  scorn  alike  the  modern  and  th'  uncouth ; 
The  sober'  Muses  treat  with  high  disdain 
Th'  improper  conduct  of  a  clouded  brain, 
And  so  with  patient  toil  the  bard  may  hope 
To  gain  the  infallibility  of  Pope ! 

Or  shall  we  take  a  hint  from  Praed, 

And  sport  with  antithetic  phrases? 
Who  goes  to  blaze  that  bosky  glade 

Must  step  with  care,  or  go  to  blazes ; 
One  takes  a  ten-inch  gun  along, 

Hymettus'  honey  hives  to  rifle, 
Or  seeks  a  muse  for  lofty  song 

And  finds  amusement  in  a  trifle ! 

Oft  in  the  silly  rhyme 

We  find  our  thought  departed — 
But  here,  at  least's  a  time 

It  isn't  even  started ! 


Piping  and  Panning  81 


"THE  BALBOA"  (1915) 

A  new  "  national  dance  "  by  that  name  has  b*een  introduced 
by  the  terpischorean  teachers.  We  don't  know  the  music, 
but  it  probably  goes  to  words  like  these: 

Have  you  heard  that  Balboa  glide? 
It's  a  hummer,  it's  a  Culebra  Slide ! 
It's  a  Panama- Pacific,  beatific  and  terrific  locomotion 

like  the  Ocean, 

With  a  split-apollinaris  on  the  side. 
Old  Noah 
Was  a  rowah, 
But  Balboa 
Stayed  on  shoah, 

But  he  found  the  Big  Salt  Lake,  that's  no  fake ; 
He's  the  kid  that  Keats  called  Cortez  by  mistake, 
And  he  stood  upon  a  crag  and  he  waved  a  Spanish  flag 
And — he  danced  that  Bal-bo-ah  Ra-a-ag — 

CHORUS 

First,  you  stand  on  the  sand,  ain't  it  grand, 

Then  you  take  her  by  the  hand, 

Then  you  grab  her  round  the  Isthmus, 

And  you  dance  from  now  till  Christmas, 

She's  the  girl  you  feel  like  carryin' 

To  that  well  known  Peak  in  Darien, 

While  you're  doin'  that  Balboa  glide! 


82  Piping  and  Panning 


THE  TYPEWRITER'S  SONG 

"  Write  me  a  verse,  my  old  machine — 

I  lack  for  an  inspiration; 
The  skies  are  blue  and  the  trees  are  green, 

And  I  long  for  a  long  vacation. 
But  moods  like  mine  don't  bother  you, 

And  I've  written  so  much  upon  you 
That  you  ought  to  be  good  for  a  line  or  two 

Of  your  own  accord,  doggone  you ! " 


(Then  on  its  keys,  as  I  thus  implored, 

I  laid  my  fingers  lightly, 
As  you  lay  your  hands  on  a  Ouija  Board, 

And  wait  for  a  message  spritely; 
But  the  old  thing  answered  never  a  word 

To  the  mild  request  I  proffered, 
And  so,  observing  that  naught  occurred, 

These  further  thoughts  I  offered)  : 


"  For  seven  seasons  I've  been  your  nurse 

And  valet  and  slave  and  crony ; 
To  you  I  whispered  my  every  verse, 

Ballad  or  gay  canzone; 
You're  full  of  meters  and  unfledged  dreams 

And  sonnets  that  died  a-borning — 
I've  put  'em  there — and  it  really  seems 

You  could  help  me  out,  this  morning !  " 


Piping  and  Panning  83 

And  again  I  waited,  receptive,  still, 

Anticipatory,  eager 
To  get  the  reply  of  the  good  old  mill, 

No  matter  how  dull  and  meager; 
A  start !    A  thrill !    A  rattle— and  then 

It  pounds  out,  swift  and  hearty — 
"  Now  is  the  time  for  all  good  men 

To  come  to  the  aid  of  their  party" 


84  Piping  and  Panning 


RURAL  DELIGHTS 

The  days  of  my  boyhood  were  spent 

In  a  very  remote,  Hoosier  village; 
And  so,  to  a  middling  extent, 

I  have  knowledge  of  georgics  and  tillage. 
I've  lived  in  the  city  for  years, 

And  my  memory's  more  or  less  faulty, 
But  I  long  for  the  country,  with  tears 

That  are  normally  bitter  and  salty. 


I  recall  how  we  locked  up  the  bees, 

And  gathered  the  eggs  from  the  ganders ; 
I  remember  the  turkeys  had  fleas, 

And  the  cows  were  afflicted  with  glanders. 
I  think  we  subsisted  on  oats 

And  greens,  when  our  stomachs  were  able — 
For  we  fed  all  the  food  to  the  shoats, 

And  saved  what  they  left  for  the  table. 

We  arose  every  morning  at  four, 

In  the  winter  as  well  as  in  summer, 
And  we  washed  just  outside  the  back  door, 

(Our  folks  never  heard  of  a  plumber!) 
We  worked  until  long  after  day, 

For  quitting  at  six  was  a  scandal, 
And  then  we  retired  right  away 

To  save  the  expense  of  a  candle. 


Piping  and  Panning  85 

O  soul !     For  these  simply  sublime 

Though  primitive  pleasures  thou  starvest ! 
For  the  raptures  of  hog-killing  time, 

For  the  gladness  of  haying  and  harvest ! 
O  heart  that  dost  achingly  yearn 

To  taste  them  again,  ere  thou  diest, 
When  I  hear  thee  desire  to  return, 

I  sadly  suspect  that  thou  liest! 


86  Piping  and  Panning 


WHY? 

I  share  with  all  my  friends  the  most  bromidic  of  pro 
clivities — 

I  am  a  moving  picture  fan  of  regular  activities ; 

The  heroes  I  extenuate,  the  heroines  idealize, 

And  gain  more  inspiration  from  the  dramas  than  I 
realize. 

Yet  though  the  movies  move  me,  and  the  thedabaras 
fascinate, 

There  still  remain  some  actors  I  am  itching  to 
assassinate ; 

There  still  remain  some  actions  idiotic  but  habitual, 

Which  anywhere  and  everywhere  are  practiced  like 
a  ritual. 

For  instance,  when  the  hero  calls  at  office  or  at  resi 
dence, 

The  cabin  of  the  cowboys  or  the  palace  of  the  Presi- 
'  dents, 

He  doesn't  go  and  ring  the  bell,  as  would  a  common 
visitor, 

But  stares  at  the  outside  as  if  he  were  a  tax  inquisi 
tor; 

He  rolls  his  eyes  from  side  to  side,  from  other  homes 
to  single  it, 

As  if  he  had  a  contract  for  to  paint  the  place  and 
shingle  it ; 


Piping  and  Panning  87 

Then  nods  his  head,  as  if  to  say,  with  self-approving 

graciousness, 
"  I've  found  the  house !    You'll  have  to  hand  it  to  me 

for  sagaciousness !  " 

Why  is  it,   when   our  hero  goes  to  ask  a  raise  of 

salary, 
Or  his  employer's  daughter's  hand,  or  tickets  for  the 

gallery, 
He  holds  his  hat  in  both  his  hands — and  when  they 

treat  his  wishes  with 
Contempt,  he  wrings  it  like  a  rag  that  women  wash 

the  dishes  with? 

I  never  treat  a  hat  like  that,  my  anguish  to  accentuate — 
My  hat  is  stiff,  and  if  I  did,  much  damage  would 

eventuate ; 

Someone  should  slip  a  derby  to  our  hero  for  experi 
ment — 
I  think  that  the  result  would  be  some  quite  keystonian 

merriment ! 

Then  there's  the  cowboy,  living  out  among  the  sage 

and  cactuses, 
He  drives  no  cows,  but  spends  his  time  in  various 

sportive  practices; 
Although  for  his  profession  on  the  prairies  there  is 

ample  room, 
You  never  find  him  anywhere  but  in  the  village  sample 

room. 


88  Piping  and  Panning 

I  wonder  why !    And  why,  when  Fatty  Arbuckle  falls 

weightily 
From  roofs  and  airplanes  does  the  tumble  never  turn 

out  fatally? 

Oh,  yes,  I  love  the  movies  and  their  heroine  ethereal — 
But  some  day  I  shall  murder  the  inventor  of  the  Serial ! 


Piping  and  Panning 


A  SONG  OF  THE  MOVIE  MEXICAN 

Oh,  I  am  a  brave  desperado, 

And  I  wear  a  wide  spreading  sombrero ; 
I  am  noted  for  sneers  and  bravado, 

And  I  constantly  dance  the  bolero. 
I  murder  the  foul  renegade, 

And  I  lose  my  dinero  at  faro ; 
And  I  lie  in  a  dark  ambuscado 

To  capture  my  rival  ranchero. 

(CHO.) 

Maraschino ! 

Peperino ! 
Don  Pedro  and  Little  Casino ! 

Merino, 

Tondino — 
Tortillas  and  chili  and  bino ! 

I  run  from  brave  'Mericano, 

And  I  shrink  from  the  soap  and  sapolio ; 
I  play  the  guitar  and  piano, 

And  I  grease  my  frijoles  with  oleo; 
I  sing  the  fandango,  soprano, 

And  I  swipe  the  base  Gringo's  portfolio; 
For  I  am  the  Mexican  man,  O, 

Who  appears  in  each  movie  embroglio ! 

(CHO.) 
Maraschino !  etc. 


9<D  Piping  and  Panning 


THE  SAILING  OF  THE  MAYFLOWER 

Three  hundred  years  ago,  perdie, 

From  out  the  port  of  Plymouth  Town, 
In  buckled  shoe  and  russet  gown, 

There  sailed  a  goodlie  companie. 

And  one  was  there  to  count  the  polls, 

(And  close-cropt,  Roundhead  polls  were  they!) 
And  they  that  sailed  upon  that  day, 

Says  he,  were  just  one  hundred  souls. 

One  hundred  sailed  from  Plymouth  Dock, 
But  when  the  tedious  trip  was  done, 
There  were  one  hundred  souls  plus  one 

Who  went  ashore  on  Plymouth  Rock ! 

But  fifty-one  that  winter  died, 

And  fifty  lived  to  see  the  spring; 

And  of  these  fifty,  I  would  sing 
A  song  to  spur  my  native  pride. 

Now  some  of  these  were  men  bereft 
Of  wives,  and  some  were  bachelors ; 
And  so,  upon  these  rocky  shores 

Some  twenty  wedded  pairs  were  left. 

A  score  of  wedded  pairs — and  then 
Twelve  generations  pass  away, 
And  their  descendants  count  today 

Not  fewer  than  a  million  men ! 


Piping  and  Panning  91 

And  each  one  of  the  lot  can  boast 
A  bit  of  furniture  or  plate 
Included  in  the  Mayflower's  freight 

What  time  she  touched  our  rock-bound  coast ! 

O  foolish  claims  to  Pilgrim  kin ! 
O  silly  heaps  of  spurious  junk — 
(Except  my  carved  Carolean  trunk, 

Which  I  can  prove  is  genuine !) 


92  Piping  and  Panning 


MYSTERIOUS  CREATURES 

I  try  to  gather  knowledge,  as  I  wander  to  and  fro, 
And  pick  up  new  accomplishments  no  matter  where  I 

go; 
There's  many  an  unknown  creature  in  the  earth  and 

sea  and  air 
That  well  repays  the  student  who  will  track  it  to  its 

lair; 

And  many  a  curious  insect  and  many  a  novel  bird 
I  know,  of  which  the  ordinary  man  has  never  heard — 
While  some,  of  equal  consequence,  I  haven't  any  doubt, 
I  cannot  seem  to  find  at  all,  much  less  to  learn  about. 

I've  tamed  to  sweet  obedience  a  savage  blastoderm ; 
And  with  a  string  around  his  leg  I  keep  an  isotherm. 
I've  taught  a  syzygy  to  sing,  an  azimuth  to  dance, 
And   I   can  make  a  kayak   quail   before   my  steady 

glance. 

A  pair  of  rare  abscissas  hop  about  my  onion  bed, 
A  blue  zygoma's  hide  is  nailed  upon  my  carriage  shed ; 
A  shaddon's  spreading  antlers  hang  upon  my  study 

wall- 
But  never  in  my  life  have  I  espied  a  gingival ! 

I  know  where  bawsins  build  their  nests  afar  from 

human  eyes, 

And  where  the  shy  recidivist  in  gloomy  jungle  lies ; 
I  know  the  plungeon's  habits  from  the  day  he  cuts  his 

teeth, 


Piping  and  Panning  93 

And  why  the  targum's  fur  is  green  above,  but  pink 

beneath. 
But  all  that  special  knowledge  seems  to  me  of  little 

worth, 

Because  I  cannot  run  that  cursed  gingival  to  earth- 
Ay,  and  there's  yet  another  thing  that  preys  upon  my 

mind — 
I  cannot  fiud,  nor  learn,  one  thing  about  a  gavelkind ! 


94  Piping  and  Panning 


THE  SHADY  PAST 

I  have  read  Langdon  Smith's  "  Evolution," 

Much  quoted  a  decade  ago ; 
To  its  dreamy  but  virile  locution 

Much  food  for  reflection  I  owe. 
Transmigration's  a  fine  institution, 

I  honestly  think — if  it's  so! 

Was  I  ever  a  sluggish  molluscan 

In  an  antediluvian  age? 
Was  I  ever  a  bronze-clad  Etruscan, 

In  battles  with  Rome  to  engage? 
Did  I  ever  don  doublet  and  buskin 

To  strut  the  Shakespearean  stage? 

Was  my  dwelling  in  Memphis  or  Sais, 
In  days  when  Sesostris  was  king? 

Did  I  ever  seek  favor  of  Lais, 
In  a  long-ago  Attican  spring  ? 

Have  I  sat  with  The  Hero  and  Thais, 
To  hear  old  Timotheus  sing? 

Have  I  bickered  with  Lisbon  longshoremen, 
Whose  quarrels  were  settled  with  knives? 

Did  I  battle  with  Billy  the  Norman, 

Or  the  Saxons  that  strove  for  their  lives  ? 

Have  I  lived  as  a  Moor  or  a  Mormon 
With  a  numerous  harem  of  wives? 


Piping  and  Panning  95 

Perhaps  I  have  sought  El  Dorado 
Through  Panama's  jungles  and  pits, 

Have  fought  with  the  smiling  bravado 
Of  villains  that  live  by  their  wits — 

And  died  in  a  blind  ambuscado, 
At  Trinidad's  port,  or  St.  Kitts. 

You  see,  in  this  life  of  stagnation, 

So  little  exciting  I've  done, 
That  the  doctrine  of  re-incarnation 

Is  a  comforter  second  to  none — 
It  fills  me  with  joyous  elation 

To  think  that  I've  had  so  much  fun ! 


96  Piping  and  Panning 


VILLANELLE  OF  A  VILLANESS 

She  was  the  daughter  of  Glubstein  the  Glover, 

Sooner  or  later,  you'd  hear  about  that. 
I  wooed  with  poems,  a  lyrical  lover. 

"  We  two  shall   dwell  where  the  humming  birds 

hover!" 

Thus  did  I  go  with  the  Muse  to  the  mat. 
She  was  the  daughter  of  Glubstein  the  Glover. 

"  Oh,  for  a  home  in  the  haunts  of  the  plover ! " 

(Knowing  not  plover  from  Angora  cat, 
I  wooed  with  poems,  a  lyrical  lover!) 

"  Then  came  the  day  when  she  chanced  to  discover 

What  was  my  wage — and  she  got  me  my  hat ! 
"  She  was  the  daughter  of  Glubstein  the  Glover — 

"  Had  I  the  nerve  to  take  her — and  to  shove  her 

Into  some  dingy  old  fifth-story  flat?" 
I  wooed  with  poems!    A  lyrical  lover! 

"  Go !  "  and  the  chandelier  rattled  above  her ! 
Out  on  the  sidewalk  was  where  I  was  at ! 
(She  was  the  daughter  of  Glubstein  the  Glover; 
I  wooed  with  poems — a  lyrical  lover.) 


Piping  and  Panning  97 


THE  NEW  ERA 

Sit  down,  dear  Muse,  and  take  a  rest,  I  beg! 

Your  warlike  lyrics  you  must  now  abandon; 
Your  martial  meters  now  have  not  a  leg 

To  stand  on. 

No  more  shall  Mars  our  solemn  song  inspire; 

Our  battle  hymns  seem  now  all  stale  and  stupid. 
To  Venus  once  again  we'll  tune  the  lyre — 

And  Cupid! 

Away  with  war  and  all  its  fume  and  fuss, 
Its  rumbling  engines  and  its  grim  machinery ! 

Now  we  can  think  on  beauty,  and  discuss 
The  scenery. 

Those  nymphs  divine  again  our  souls  may  vex 

Whose  riddles  are  more  puzzling  than  the  Sphinx's ; 

Again  we'll  pay  attention  to  the  Sex— 
The  minxes! 

Back,  Muse,  to  Helicon's  celestial  shade ! 

Bellona's  reign  hath  been  both  harsh  and  heartless. 
Verse  is  an  art  of  peace — and  war  has  made 

Us  artless! 


98  Piping  and  Panning 


LYRIC  MADE  IN  HOT  WEATHER 

Oh,  I  should  dearly  love  to  be 

A  fish  that  swimmeth  in  the  sea ; 

A  bird  that  flyeth  in  the  air 

And  findeth  cooling  breezes  there ; 

A  walrus  on  a  cake  of  ice — 

That  too,  methinks,  were  very  nice. 

And  yet,  if  I  could  have  my  wish, 
I  should  not  pray  to  be  a  fish ; 
For,  be  the  weather  what  it  may, 
Fish  must  take  water  night  and  day ; 
And  I  retract  my  former  word 
That  I  should  like  to  be  a  bird — 
For  though  it  would  be  nice  to  fly, 
It's  hard  work,  too,  and  that  is  why. 
And  though  it  also  would  be  nice 
To  sit  upon  a  cake  of  ice, 
Yet  'twere  much  better  I  can  see, 
To  have  that  cake  of  ice  in  me. 

So  like  a  bird  I'll  fly  to  shade, 
And  there  I'll  have  a  drinklet  made, 
And  like  a  fish  I'll  soak  it  in 
Till  it  pervades  my  very  skin; 
And  in  that  beverage  shall' float 
A  cake  of  ice  to  cool  my  throat, 
And  I  shall  be  more  happy,  far, 
Than  bird  and  fish  and  walrus  are ! 


Piping  and  Panning  99 

TWO  SOULS 

Woman  has  two  souls,  declares  Dr.  G.  Stanley  Hall. 

A  woman  has  two  souls.     The  sage 

Has  said  it,  and  I  half  believe  it ; 
This  solves  the  problem  every  age 

Has  had  to  puzzle  it  and  grieve  it. 
One  soul  intent  on  heavenly  things, 

The  other  bent  on  fiendish  revel ; 
An  angel,  one,  with  snow  white  wings, 

The  other — on  a  lower  level. 

It  is  the  one  angelic  soul 

That  parts  from  me  with  tender  yearning ; 
It  is  the  other,  black  as  coal, 

That  nags  me  when  I'm  late  returning. 
The  one,  when  all  my  hopes  fall  flat, 

Cheers  me  with  counsel  sweet  and  brave — 
T'other,  a  minute  after  that, 

Hates  me  because  I  need  a  shave ! 

Two  souls !    And  when  a  woman  dies, 

The  two  from  one  another  sever — 
One  goes  to  bliss  beyond  the  skies, 

One  to  the  brimstone  lake  forever ; 
And  when  her  mate  tastes  death's  dark  cup, 

This  justice  do  the  gods  allot  him — 
Whether  his  soul  goes  down  or  up, 

No  matter  where  he  goes,  she's  got  him ! 


ioo  Piping  and  Panning 


SUNDRY  REFLECTIONS 

I've  often  wished  to  write  a  shilling  shock-tale 

Replete  with  parables  and  paradoxes, 
To  teach  what  poison  lurks  within  the  cocktail, 

And  in  the  little  grapes  that  spoil  the  foxes; 
'Twould  be  a  lesson  for  the  heedless  many  fit, 
And  e'en  the  heedful  few  might  get  some  benefit. 

I  think  I'd  use,  by  way  of  illustration, 

The  prehistoric  fly  that  climbed  the  gum-tree, 

Tasting  the  sweetness  of  intoxication 

That  oozes  from  a  cherry  tree  or  plum  tree, 

And  getting  stuck,  poor  thing,  in  all  that  saccharine 

And  gluey  mess  that  trickles  down  to  pack  her  in ! 

Vainly  she  struggles !    While  her  partner  flaps  his 
Free  wings,  she  cannot  fly  or  even  clamber ; 

She  wriggles,  buzzes,  gasps — and  then  collapses, 
Entombed  for  all  eternity  in  amber ! 

There  see  the  monument  of  her  temerity 

A  million  generations  of  posterity! 

Oh,  shun,  dear  child,  all  amber  colored  liquor,      t 
Especially  when  it  is  sweet  and  gummy ; 

Nothing  will  clog  your  brains  and  members  quicker, 
And  nothing's  more  upsetting  to  the  tummy. 

Mankind  will  note  your  fate.    Is  this  terrific  cant? 

Ah!    But  that  insect's  fate  is  sure  significant! 


Piping  and  Panning  101 


OLD  STUFF 

"  Life  is  real,  life  is  earnest, 
And  the  grave  is  not  the  goal ; 

Dust  thou  art,  to  dust  returnest, 
Was  not  spoken  of  the  soul." 

Ribald  tunes  though  we  may  troll, 

Rouse  the  lark  from  his  (or  her)  nest — 

At  the  end  and  on  the  whole, 
Life  is  real,  life  is  earnest. 

Though  these  handy  hints  thou  spurnest, 
Man's  a  man,  and  not  a  mole ! 

Here's  a  game  of  all  games  sternest, 
And  the  grave  is  not  its  goal ! 

Though  thou  seekest  either  pole, 
This  is  what  at  last  thou  learnest — 

This  thou  payest  for  thy  toll — 

"  Dust  thou  art,  to  dust  returnest !  " 

And  as  many  a  sea  thou  churnest, 
Plumb  each  deep  and  scrape  each  shoal, 

'Tis  as  if  the  wealth  thou  burnest 
Was  not!     (Spoken  of  the  soul.) 

Busted  is  the  Golden  Bowl, 

Empty  is  the  lined-with-fur  nest! 

It's  to  laugh!    Comme  il  est  drole! 
Of  all  durn-fool  jokes,  the  durnest 

Life  is! 


IO2  Piping  and  Panning 


A  VAGARY 

Mary,  Mary,  quite  contrary, 
Tell  me,  Mary,  tell  me  true — 

Tom's  a  darling  boy,  but  dare  he, 
Merry  Mary,  marry  you? 

Dick's  a  loving  lad,  but  wary, 

And  you'll  find  that  timid,  scary 
Harry,  very  wary,  too. 

Mary,  Mary,  quite  contrary, 
Tell  me,  Mary,  tell  me  true — 

Do  you  think  such  arbitrary 

Treatment  of  your  beaux  will  do  ? 

Think  now — youth's  but  temporary; 

Lover's  tempers  often  vary — 
Often  long  for  something  new. 

Mary,  Mary,  quite  contrary, 
Tell  me,  Mary,  tell  me  true — 

Do  you  court  a  solitary 

Life,  who  flout  the  lads  that  woo? 

Coyness  may  be  necessary — 

Stubbornness  is  not.    Be  chary, 
Or  you'll  soon  be  wearing  rue. 

Mary,  Mary,  quite  contrary, 
Tell  me,  Mary,  tell  me  true — 


Piping  and  Panning  103 

Have  you  found  your  strange  vagary 
Satisfying  through  and  through? 

Cut  it  out,  you  airy  fairy ! 

(Here  the  rhyming  dictionary 
Quits,  or  we'd  hand  out  a  few !) 


IO4  Piping  and  Panning 


LIARS 

There  was  a  girl  who  curled  up  on  the  lawn, 

Sniffed  at  a  flower,  and  wrote  a  little  note; 
The  tabouret  was  close  beside  her  drawn, 

With  caramels  to  soothe  her  as  she  wrote. 
A  soft  breeze  fanned  her  alabaster  brow, 

And  happily  she  scribbled  on  and  on — 
"  O  Darling !    Life  is  sad  and  dreary,  now, 

And  I  am  comfortless,  when  you  are  gone !  " 

That  letter,  mailed,  came  to  a  nice  young  man 

At  eve,  within  his  bachelor  abode, 
And  while  his  valet  rushed  the  festive  can, 

He  smoked  and  lounged  and  got  a  gentle  load ; 
And,  as  he  loafed  and  sipped  and  smoked,  somehow 

He  wrote  an  answer  to  that  note,  ere  dawn  — 
"  O  sweetheart !    Life  is  cold  and  lonely,  now, 

And  I  am  comfortless,  when  you  are  gone !  " 

Yes,  they  are  liars  all,  and  so  are  we — 
But  otherwise,  how  nasty  life  would  be! 


Piping  and  Panning  105 


A  LAY  OF  ANCIENT  ROME 

All  in  a  quiet  barnyard 

About  the  hour  of  ten, 
When  biddies  sleep  without  a  peep 

And  dream  of  colored  men — 
A  wraith  in  white  there  hove  in  sight — 

The  Spirit  of  a  Hen! 

The  ghost  of  her  who  suffered 

The  meanest  kind  of  luck — 
(Of  pip  to  die,  though  treated  by 

The  great  quack,  Doctor  Duck). 
And  in  that  roost  the  ghost  produced 

A  most  sepulchral  cluck ! 

Then  the  affrighted  chickens 
Rushed  screaming  to  and  fro, 

With  screech  and  squawk,  as  if  a  hawk 
At  midnight  had  swooped  low ; 

And  all  the  fowls  with  dismal  howls 
Did  voice  their  frightened  woe ! 

But  see!  amid  the  panic 

One  noble  soul  is  calm; 
She  soothes  the  birds  with  quiet  words, 

And  then,  without  a  qualm 
Strides  towardlthat  spook  with  stern  rebuke, 

And  exorcising  psalm ! 


io6  Piping  and  Panning 

All  honor  to  the  chicken 
Who  did  so  brave  a  thing! 

The  ghastly  shape,  with  beak  agape 
And  eyeballs  glimmering, 

And  baffled  cry,  away  did  fly 
On  immaterial  wing! 

And  often  in  the  twilight, 

When  vain  young  pullets  boast, 

Somq  older  hen  quite  shames  them,  when 
With  just  a  gentle  roast 

She  tells  of  one  ne'er  since  outdone — 
The  Hen  that  Laid  a  Ghost! 


Piping  and  Panning  107 

THE  AGE  OF  GENIUS 

What  is  the  age  when  Genius  spreads  its  pinions 

And  soars  to  heights  beyond  our  mortal  ken  ? 
When  rules  the  Muse  her  ultimate  dominions  ? 

(Muse  of  a  tiny  realm,  make  answer— when?) 
At  fourteen,  Chatterton  had  gained  attention ; 

At  fifteen,  Pope  had  published  more  or  less; 
At  sixteen,  Byron  got  a  deal  of  mention, 

At  seventeen,  John  Dryden  went  to  press. 

At  eighteen,  says  tradition,  David  drops  his 

Pebbles  and  sling,  and  smites  the  sacred  lyre ; 
At  nineteen,  Bryant  writes  his  Thanatopsis, 

At  twenty,  Shelley  sets  the  world  on  fire. 
At  twenty-one,  come  Horace,  Heine,  Schiller, 

Keats  and  Dumas,  Disraeli  and  Voltaire; 
With  lyric,  drama  and  romantic  thriller, 

And  prose  and  poetry  beyond  compare. 

What  boots  it?    Bunyan  made  his  hit  at  fifty, 

And  Dante  did  his  stunt  at  fifty-one; 
Homer  was  sixty  when  he  got  his  nifty 

And  well  known  epic  called  "  The  Iliad  "  done. 
At  seventy,  De  Morgan  wrote  his  fiction, 

At  eighty,  Sara  Bernhardt  still  will  play. 
Thanks,  Gentle  Muse,  for  making  no  restriction— 

We're  going  to  start  our  masterpiece  today ! 


io8  Piping  and  Panning 


LIMITATIONS  (1917) 

From  battle  I  never  should  run, 

Though  bullets  flew  hotter  and  hotter ; 
When  charged  by  an  enemy  Hun, 

I  should  swat  him  a  swat  with  my  swatter. 

Before  me  the  foeman  would  totter, 
If  blessed  with  sufficient  acumen: 

But  please  don't  believe  I'm  a  rotter — 
Remember,  I'm  nothing  but  human. 

I  honestly  can't  see  the  fun 

In  taxing  an  indigent  cotter 
Like  me  an  amount  that  would  stun 

An  owner  of  cars,  or  a  yachter. 

I'd  fight  (if  I  could)  as  I'd  otter 
For  old  Uncle  Sam,  like  a  true  man — 

But  why  can't  that  supertax  spotter 
Remember  I'm  nothing  but  human  ? 

I'd  willingly  shoulder  a  gun, 

And  execute  slacker  and  plotter, 
But  why  should  I  dig  in  the  sun, 

And  sweat  like  a  clodhopping  squatter? 

Let  others  in  war  gardens  potter, 
I'll  purchase  my  fats  and  albumen; 

I  won't  be  a  darned  vacant-lotter — 
Remember  I'm  nothing  but  human! 


Piping  and  Panning  109 


I/ENVOI 


I'd  soak  me  in  blood  like  a  blotter, 
My  love  for  my  land  to  illumine ; 

But  "  Live  and  Let  Live  "  is  my  motter — 
Remember,  I'm  nothing  but  human ! 


no  Piping  and  Panning 


BUTTER  AND  EGGS 

"  Butter  and  eggs  and  a  pound  of  cheese  " — 

That  was  the  poet's  burlesque  refrain; 
I  am  concerned  with  but  two  of  these, 

For  cheeses  my  larder  may  still  retain. 

All  my  breakfasts  are  tinged  with  pain, 
At  dinner  my  spirit  but  dumbly  begs 

For  the  presence  bland  of  the  vanished  twain — 
Butter  and  eggs ! 

For  lo !    Tis  one  of  the  firm  decrees 

Of  the  household's  head  that  we  now  abstain 
From  the  golden  gobs  of  the  dairy's  lees, 

And  the  oval  orbs  of  the  hens'  domain. 

Till  the  combination  be  crushed  and  slain, 
Till  the  speculators  be  jailed  as  yeggs, 

We've  sworn  to  treat  with  a  high  disdain 
Butter  and  eggs ! 

I  was  never  one  that  was  hard  to  please 

And  the  strike  is  on,  and  I  can't  complain ; 
But  at  baked  potatoes  I  choke  and  wheeze, 

And  whole-wheat  bread  has  an  arid  grain. 

We  do  it  for  principle,  not  for  gain — 
Though  our  money  was  counted  in  bales  and  kegs, 

Though  you  offered  them  free,  you  would  offer  in 

vain 
Butter  and  eggs ! 


Piping  and  Panning  in 

(But  list!     When  I'm  loosed  from  the  household's 
chain, 

Neath  a  lunch-room's  table  I  stretch  my  legs ; 
Each  noon  I  order — O  joy  profane ! — 

"  Butter  and  Eggs!") 


112  Piping  and  Panning 


A  HORRIBLE  EXPERIENCE 

A  happy  man  is  he  who  ne'er, 

While  sleeping  sound  and  safe  from  harm, 
Hears  shrilling  on  the  midnight  air 

The  sudden  telephone's  alarm! 

An  unknown  terror  strikes  his  heart 
Who  in  the  midst  of  slumber  deep 

Hears  with  a  wild  and  painful  start 
The  jangling  call  that  murders  sleep. 

He  fumbles  vaguely  at  his  waist 

To  draw  pa  jama  strings  more  snug — 

He  leaps  from  bed  in  breathless  haste, 
And  sprawls  across  a  lurking  rug. 

His  numbed  brain  struggles  to  invent, 
The  while  he  rushes  through  the  hall, 

The  sort  of  grisly  accident 

That  could  produce  a  midnight  call. 

Adown  the  stair  he  holds  his  breath, 

While  "  Hurry— hurry !  "  screams  the  bell ; 

He  sees  his  mother  cold  in  death, 
His  brother  in  a  felon's  cell! 

He  whispers,  huskily,  "Hello!" 

And  quaking  waits  the  words  of  fate ; 

Then  some  brisk  idiot  answers,  "  Oh, 
Hello— is  this  the  Nickel  Plate?" 


Piping  and  Panning  113 

A  wrong  connection !     Does  it  bring 
Welcome  relief  from  all  his  fright? 

Ah,  no !    He  swears  like  anything, 
And  can't  get  back  to  sleep  all  night ! 


114  Piping  and  Panning 


BALLADE  OF  A  BACKSLIDER 

Darling,  I  am  growing  old! 

Yet,  before  I  pass  away, 
Shall  these  dimming  eyes  behold 

Woman  hold  her  equal  sway; 

I  have  labored  for  it — yea, 
I  have  racked  this  bulging  dome 

To  confute  the  men  who  say 
"  Woman's  place  is  in  the  Home." 


Darling,  I  am  growing  cold 

Toward  the  suffrage  hip-hooray ; 
Silver  threads  among  the  gold 

Seem  my  fervor  to  allay. 

Just  as  dawns  the  longed-for  day, 
Clear  from  Jacksonville  to  Nome, 

I  am  moved  to  murmur,  "  Nay, 
Woman's  place  is  in  the  home !  " 


Darling,  I  am  growing  bold 

As  my  hair  is  growing  gray ! 
You  may  sneer,  or  you  may  scold, 

But  I  fear  no  female  fray! 

When  the  ladies  got  too  gay 
In  the  days  of  ancient  Rome, 

Then  began  Rome's  swift  decay — 
Woman's  place  is  in  the  Home. 


Piping  and  Panning 


(Princess,  privately  I  pray 
You'll  excuse  this  little  pome; 

Just  in  public,  let  me  bray  — 

"  Woman's  Place  is  in  the  Home  !  ") 


n6  Piping  and  Panning 


THE  WRONG  DOPE 

To  greet  the  Dawn  I  rose  to  don 

My  freshest  raiment,  thus  to  praise  her. 

Betimes  I  shaved  me — and  anon 

Did  deeply  gash  myself  upon 
My  safety  razor. 

That  first  ill  fortune  started  it — 

Some  days  are  cursed,  beyond  a  question ! — 
My  breakfast  dish — the  merest  bit 
Of  "  Health  Food  "—handed  me  a  fit 

Of  indigestion! 

With  but  a  moment's  time  to  make 
My  car,  the  haste  that  fear  engenders 

Forced  me  a  mighty  leap  to  take; 

I  won — but  busted  my  Unbreak- 
Able  Suspenders. 

My  Hole  Proof  Sox  that  day  wore  through, 
My  Rain  Proof  Shoes  received  a  soaking; 

My  Dust  Proof  Watch  was  taken  to 

The  jeweler,  who  cleaned  it.     Do 
You  think  I'm  joking? 

Ah  no!     Too  often  dost  thou  trust 
To  names — too  tardy  thou  repentest! 

Too  oft,  in  agonized  disgust, 

I've  heard  thee  groan,  as  thou  hast  cussed 
The  Painless  Dentist ! 


Piping  and  Panning  117 

Next,  my  non-leaking  fountain  pen 

Broke  loose  and  ruined  all  my  raiment; 
The  day  wore  on;  the  kindly  men 
Whose  Big  Free  Offer  lured  me,  then 
Demanded  payment. 

And  thus  from  dawn  to  dark  it  ran, 

This  tale  of  unexpected  sorrow, 
Tonight  I  am  a  happy  man, 
For,  hap  what  may,  Fate  never  can 

Act  worse  tomorrow! 


ii8  Piping  and  Panning 


ROMANZA 

A  sutler  and  a  butler 

And  a  mirthless,  worthless  cutler — 

Oh,  I  say  it  with  a  sob! — 

They  were  hunting  for  a  job. 
For  the  butler 

Couldn't  buttle  ; 
And  the  cutler 

Couldn't  cuttle! 


But  the  sutler,  he  was  subtler 
Than  the  cutler  or  the  butler — 

Oh,  I  say  it  with  a  tear — 

He  consoled  himself  with  beer ! 
Though  the  fellow 

Couldn't  suttle, 
He  grew  mellow 

On  a  scuttle! 


So  the  cutler  and  the  butler 
Took  example  from  the  sutler — 

Oh,  I  say  it  with  a  sigh ! — 

They  perceived  that  they  were  dry ; 
And  they  struggled 

For  the  scuttle, 
Which  they  juggled 

Like  a  shuttle ! 


Piping  and  Panning  119 

So  the  scuttle 

It  was  scuttled, 
And  the  shuttle 

All  unshuttled, 
On  the  floor ! 

And  the  butler 

Never  buttled, 
And  the  cutler 

Never  cuttled, 
And  the  sutler 
(Who  was  subtler) 

Never  suttled 
Any  more! 


I2O  Piping  and  Panning 


AN  AMBITION   (1917) 

It  seems  to  me,  if  I  could  be  a  spiritistic  medium, 
I'd  palliate  my  present  state  of  lassitude  and  tedium ; 
I  wouldn't  try  for  glory  by  performances  sensational, 
My  talents  should  be  used  for  good — and  purely  educa 
tional. 

If  one  should  bruit  an  old  dispute  about  some  point 

in  history, 
I'd  raise  his  ghost  who  knew  the  most  thereon,  and 

end  the  mystery; 
Some   bitter    philosophic   pill    might   puzzle   us    and 

stagger  us — 
Swift  to   our  aid   I'd   call  the   shade   of   Plato,   or 

Pythagoras ! 

I'd  call  upon  Napoleon  for  martial  perspicacity, 
And  then  I'd  bring  to  Gen'ral  Byng  the  fruits  of  his 

sagacity; 
The  Iron  Duke  should  send  his  spook  to  check  the 

work  of  Bonaparte, 
And  we  should  smash  the  Huns  to  hash,  and  rip  the 

kaiser's  throne  apart! 

And  every  time  my  daily  rhyme  would  be  (as  oft  such 

jingles  be) 
A  task  to  write,  I'd  call  the  sprite  of  jolly  old  Tom 

Ingoldsby ; 


Piping  and  Panning  121 

I'd  pin  my  faith  to  Gilbert's  wraith  to  make  my  dittieS 

trillable, 
And  Keats  himself,  the  soulful  elf,  should  smooth 

each  halting  syllable! 

Alackaday!  Although  I  pray  for  power  that  seems 
so  common,  ah! 

I  never  once  could  do  the  stunts  of  psychical  phe 
nomena  ! 

No  ghostly  chap  will  give  a  rap  for  me — no  soul 
ethereal 

Will  boost  my  game,  or  bring  me  fame,  or  anything 
material ! 


122  Piping  and  Panning 


THE  OLD  LOVE 

The  ghost  of  a  dead  sweetheart  came,  last  night, 
And  sat  beside  me  in  the  tent  of  sleep; 
And  my  heart  met  her  with  a  joyful  leap, 

And  knew  not  that  the  years  had  taken  flight. 

Each  word  was  so  familiar  that  it  might 
Have  been  but  yesterday  I  woke  to  weep 
The  death  of  those  first  joys  no  man  can  keep — 

The  passing  of  the  days  of  pure  delight! 

Each  tone,  each  gesture,  had  the  well-known  grace 
I  loved  so  well,  of  old;  her  tenderness 

Was  round  me  as  I  woke,  and  found  her  place 
Empty,  and  lost  the  ghost  of  a  caress. 

But  in  the  darkness  she  had  veiled  her  face, 
And  which  old  love  she  was,  I  cannot  guess ! 


Piping  and  Panning  123 


"  THE  USES  OF  ADVERSITY  " 

He    finished    early    on    that    afternoon,    by    lucky 

chance, 
And  when  he  hurried  home,  he  bore  some  fine  tomato 

plants ; 
He  rushed  out  to  his  garden,  lest  the  plants  should 

droop  and  spoil, 
And  quickly  socked  them  down  into  the  unproductive 

soil! 


His  garden  was  a  hillside,  and  his  soil  was  gummy 

clay 
And  when  he   sank  that   dozen  plants,   they  wilted 

right  away! 
And  then  he  went  and  called  his  wife,  and  said,  "  Go 

get  a  pail, 
And  pour  some  water  on  them  plants,  and  do  it  with 

out  fail  !  " 


She  went  and  took  some  water  that  the  house  could 

ill  afford, 
She  stood  above  that  garden  patch  and  poured  and 

poured  and  poured, 
The  water  ran  right  past  the  plants  and  settled  down 

below 
And  made  the  weeds  and  pusley  and  mosquito  breeders 

grow! 


124  Piping  and  Panning 

The  more  she'd  pour,  the  less  the  slippery  soil  would 

seem  to  sup! 
The  more  she'd  pour,  so  much  the  more  the  burdocks 

swallered  up ! 
Her  arms  got  sore,  but  still  she'd  pour — the  plants 

would  droop  and  die, 
But  as  she  poured  the  plantains  soared,  and  the  grass 

grew  ten  feet  high! 

They  never  plucked  tomatoes  from  the  garden  on  the 

hill; 
But  from  the  swamp  below  that  happy  family  got  its 

fill! 
For  there  the  wild  duck  nested — and  we  dined  upon 

her  eggs! 
And  there  the  bullfrog  rested — and  we  supped  upon 

his  legs! 


Piping  and  Panning  12$ 


CONSERVATIVES 

The  queerest  class  of  people  I'm  privileged  to  know 
Are  those  who  always  cry  out  "  Stop !  "  and  never  cry 

out  "  Go  !  "— 
The  height  of  whose  ambition  is  to  keep  the  status  quo. 

"  Quieta  non  movere  "  is  the  motto  that  they  bear ; 
That  Well  Enough  be  let  alone  is  their  sincerest  prayer, 
And  all  of  their  religion  is  the  creed  of  laissez-faire. 

The  sound  of  their  own  footsteps  gives  a  most  un 
pleasant  thrill, 

No  matter  if  upon  a  plain  they  march,  or  up  a  hill — 
And   so   they   hush  the   dreadful    sound   by   merely 
standing  still. 

Dying  and  letting  die,  they  call  "  living  and  letting 
live  " ; 

They  do  not  even  make  mistakes  for  live  ones  to  for 
give; 

Wouldst  thou  be  Nothing?  Then,  my  son,  be  a  Con 
servative  ! 


126  Piping  and  Panning 


WHAT  HAPPENED 

There  in  the  dark,  my  nerves  were  all  a-tingle ; 
Sleep  would  not  come.    The  night-sounds  seemed  to 
mingle 

Into  a  roar. 

I  was  alone,  and  in  a  country  tavern ; 
The  room  was  black — it  might  have  been  a  cavern 

Sans  roof  or  floor. 

Something  unknown,  in  grim  amorphous  starkness, 
Threatened  and  menaced  there  amid  the  darkness, 

And  worried  me; 

There  was  some  Thing,  or  Things  without  a  number, 
Voicelessly  calling,  keeping  me  from  slumber — 

Some  mystery. 

Hours  seemed  to  pass — my  brain  was  busy,  seething, 
Dreaming  awake,  or  frightened  by  my  breathing — 

Suddenly,  lo, 

My  skin  crept,  and  with  a  piercing  anguish  smitten, 
I  leapt  from  bed  as  if  I  had  been  bitten — 

(And  I  had,  you  know!) 


Piping  and  Panning  127 


THOUGHTS  INSPIRED  BY  AN  ORGAN 
GRINDER'S  MONKEY 

Begging  pence,  though  clothed  in  scarlet, 

Tiny  simian  medicant ! 
Shall  I  pity  thee,  poor  varlet? 

No — upon  the  whole,  I  shan't; 
False  as  is  the  gilt  bedizened 

In  thy  epaulets  and  lace, 
False  the  pathos  in  thy  wizened 

Little  face. 

Once,  when  I  was  young  (I'm  turning 

Often  to  that  finished  page, 
Though  I'm  told  that  such  a  yearning 

Is  certain  sign  of  age!) 
Knowing  where  the  masters  sailed  from 

Of  the  monkeys  known  to  me, 
I  believed  that  monkeys  hailed  from 

Napoli. 

So  that  even  now,  dear  Jocko, 

When  I  see  a  monkey  troupe, 
Though  I  know  they're  from  Morocco, 

Mozambique  or  Guadaloupe, 
I  address  the  monks  I  gaze  at, 

Thinking  that  they'll  understand, 
With  the  sole  Italian  phrase  at 

My  command. 


128  Piping  and  Panning 

I  have  wandered  from  my  thesis 

In  my  old,  unlucky  way — 
Now  I  wonder  what  the  piece  is 

That  I  started  out  to  say? 
Never  mind — I've  come  a  cropper — 

When  I'm  down  I  can't  get  up ; 

Doff  your  hat,  Jock — here's  a  copper 

For  your  cup! 


Piping  and  Panning  129 


THE  TRUTH  OF  IT 

"  One  for  the  money, 
Two  for  the  show ; 
Three  to  make  ready, 
And  four  to  go !  " 

Think  of  the  rhyme,  as  you're  working,  dear  neighbor ; 

Whether  your  job's  to  be  sober  or  funny. 
Never  forget  you're  expending  your  labor 

(1)  For  the  money. 

Grab  it,  hold  on  to  it,  dig  it  and  delve  it — 

Then  very  soon  you  will  have  some  to  blow ; 
Then  you'll  be  glad  you've  gone  south  with  some 
velvet, 

(2)  For  the  Show. 

Toil  and  amusement  are  half  your  existence; 
Then   comes  the  time   when  you'll   have  to  hold 

steady — 
Something  you'll  need,  with  Old  Age  in  the  distance, 

(3)  To  make  ready ! 

That's  all  you  want.    If  you  still  keep  your  senses, 

Age  is  no  burden  and  death  is  no  foe. 
Hold  out  a  bit  for  your  burial  expenses, 

And  (4)  to  go ! 


130  Piping  and  Panning 


THE  AVERAGE  MAN 

I'm  just  as  well  and  hearty  as  it's  possible  to  be; 

There's  not  a  fellow  of  my  age  that's  healthier  than  me. 

I'm  strong  and  sound  in  wind  and  limb,  I  have  an 
appetite 

That  anyone  might  envy,  and  I  sleep  well  every  night. 

I  smoke,  of  course,  and  drink  a  little,  do  not  exercise, 

And  read  in  bed,  which  doctors  say  is  hard  upon  the 
eyes  ; 

But  doctors  don't  know  everything,  it  frequently  ap 
pears — 

Just  look  at  me — as  well  and  strong  as  one  of  half 
my  years ! 

I  find  that  smoking  calms  my  nerves — they're  always 

on  the  blink 
The  morning  after  I  have  had  a  bit  too  much  to 

drink ; 
I  find  that  drinking  steadies  me — and  I'm  in  need  of 

such 

The  morning  after  I  have  smoked  a  little  bit  too  much ; 
The  doctor  says  I  should  play  golf — I  can't  persuade 

the  chap 
That  one  who  eats  as  much  as  I  should  have  his  daily 

nap; 

He  makes  a  lot  of  fuss  about  my  little  trifling  ills, 
Which  I  can  always  regulate  with  Bunkem's  Liver 

Pills. 


Piping  and  Panning  131 

These  fits  of  indigestion  some  fine  day  will  take  me 

off— 
To  hear  him  talk !    He  frowns  about  this  little  chronic 

cough ; 
He  says  my  headache  medicine  has  lurking  danger 

in  it — 
Then  let  him  make  a  better  one — this  cures  me  in  a 

minute ! 

A  lot  the  doctors  know !    My  partner  died  last  Satur 
day, 
And  no  one  thought  him  very  sick,  till  he  had  passed 

away. 

Some  hidden  weakness  I  suppose  it  was — but,  anyhow, 
If  he'd  been  careful  of  himself,  like  me,  he'd  be  here 

now ! 


132  Piping  and  Panning 


SAD  SEPTEMBER  SENTIMENTS 

One  of  the  days  when  one's  a  martyr 
To  circumstance  today  is  mine; 

I've  broke  a  shoe  lace  and  a  garter, 
A  cuff  link  and  a  date  to  dine. 

Against  the  pane  the  rain  drops  patter, 
And  all  the  birds  have  ceased  to  sing ; 

There's  something  horribly  the  matter 
With  everything! 


The  autumn  winds  are  sadly  sighing, 
The  wet  turf  smells  like  churchyard  mold 

The  teardrops  start,  for  Summer's  dying, 
And  I'm,  afraid  I've  taken  cold. 

My  heart  is  stirred  with  apprehension, 
And  sleeping  sorrows  start  awake, 

And  that  old  tooth  that  needs  attention 
Begins  to  ache! 

The  eaves  in  dreary  anguish  dripping, 
Weep,  too,  like  sympathetic  souls — 

Alas  !    Five  mornings  without  skipping, 
I've  found  my  socks  all  full  of  holes ; 

I  suffer  dumbly — not  abusive 

Am  I,  though  all  the  house  goes  wrong; 

Such  lapses,  though,  are  not  conducive 
To  lyric  song. 


Piping  and  Panning  133 

Though  fast  were  drawn  each  shade  and  curtain, 
And  fires  were  lit,  the  gloom  to  hide, 

Still  would  my  weary  heart  be  certain 
That  rain  was  reigning  there  outside ; 

Bleak  land,  with  leaden  clouds  above  it — 
Cold,  sodden  nights  and  drizzling  morns ; 

My  sobbing  soul  would  tell  me  of  it — 
Also  my  corns! 

Enough!    Perhaps  I  should  remember 
That  e'en  the  worst  of  luck  must  mend ; 

A  few  more  days,  and  then  September 
With  all  its  bitterness  will  end. 

I'm  not  yet  blind — I  still  am  goutless — 
I  still  can  grind  my  daily  verse. 

Now  comes  October  (which  will  doubtless 
Be  even  worse !) 


134  Piping  and  Panning 


BEING  INSPIRED 

One,  thinking  of  his  love,  composed  a  rhyme 
Inspired  and  wonderful — all  people  said 

'Twas  so.    He  tried  again,  time  after  time, 
But  found  his  inspiration  cold  and  dead. 

Another  drank  of  wine,  and  as  he  drank 
His  heated  brain  conceived  a  poem  new ; 

He  tried  again — and  the  result  was  rank; 
The  muse,  insulted,  smelt  the  trick  and  flew ! 

One  played  with  opium  and  had  a  dream 

That  came  no  more.  One  read  till  he  was  full 

Of  classical  Nepenthe — gushed  one  stream 
Of  genius — "  much  cry,  and  but  little  wool !  " 

All  won  their  prizes.    Then  a  clean  man  rose, 
Unloved,  undoped — just  normal.    And  he  tried 

Horse-sense — and  half  the  world  cried  "  What  a 

pose!" 
The  other  half,  "  How  vulgar !  "    He  too,  died. 


Piping  and  Panning 


REFLECTIONS 

This  is  the  end  of  all  our  toil — 

To  gain  some  sweetness,  e'en  from  tears; 
To  wring  some  pleasure  from  the  soil, 

Ere  Death,  the  Harvester,  appears. 

Our  hopes,  our  loves,  our  doubts,  our  fears, 
Whatever  else  we  may  pretend, 

Shrink  from  the  doom  each  mortal  hears — 
"This  is  the  end!" 


This  is  the  end  of  all  turmoil — 

To  reach,  at  last,  some  quiet  years; 
And  yet  we  ever  seek  to  foil 

That  Greatest  Resting,  when  it  nears. 

Only  at  times  our  vision  clears — 
We  see  Death  as  a  kindly  friend, 

And  hear  at  last,  with  eager  ears, 
"This  is  the  end!" 


Let's  shuffle  off  this  mortal  coil 

With  grace,  and  pay  our  life's  arrears. 
Let's  play  the  game  by  rules  of  Hoyle, 

Whether  we  win  or  lose  the  beers ; 

Giving  no  fellow  man  bum  steers, 
Nor  welching  when  it's  time  to  spend, 

But  laughing,  when  some  knocker  sneers, 
"  This  is  the  end !  " 


136  Piping  and  Panning 

(This  is  the  end.    Let's  give  three  cheers. 

How  do  you  like  this  sort  of  blend 
Of  platitudes?    Ah,  spare  your  jeers — 
This  is 


THE  END.) 


„ 

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